


Two Weeks

by Archaz



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Bubbline, F/F, Gen, Nightosphere, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaz/pseuds/Archaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn is left immobilized after a nasty battle predicating an impending war and left alone in his bed in the Candy Kingdom infirmary. During a respite from the fighting, Marceline frequents him with visits and begins unveiling her past with Bubblegum and how they met. Meanwhile they're trying to find a way to save themselves from the interloping humans. M for all the good stuff.</p><p>Technically AU as of season 7, but it will be kept in line as much as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Really slow narration of Marcy and Bonnie's past and how they're handling a human invasion in the present? Anything gonna happen between them? My shipper heart says yes, and I'm not that mean. But chapters upon chapters of slowly built relations? Yep. Here you go. Enjoy.

Finn the Human has always been restless. Never one to break for long, he always preferred running, jumping, climbing, learning, fixing, adventuring – anything, to doing nothing. Ever since he was young, he and Jake had taken to the land, wherever and whenever. Life was pretty rockin’ when your brother could morph into anything and beat the bricks out of almost anyone. Watching Jake had made Finn fearless and thirsty to be a fighter, an explorer, a hero. And he was.

Not today though. Or any day soon. He would be in this bed for the long haul, glob it. He had been told by Doctor Princess that he’d been out for three days. There would be many more to come.  
He hasn’t felt this fidgety and depressed since he’d broken his legs. At least then he’d had the wheelchair. And hey, maybe part of that restlessness was fear that everyone would disappear again. For good this time. People disappeared forever in times like these. People died. 

Oh yes, people died when there was war. 

Useless. That’s what he was. Angry at himself and the buttknuckle who’d almost sliced him in half. He was supposed to be the Candy Kingdom’s Champion; personal Knight and protector of their princess and here he was stuck for glob knows how long in a stupid bed in the middle of the infirmary. It was hard to feel anything aside from disappointment in himself. Bubblegum had been counting on him and he let her down. Nearly slayed by the last thing Finn had ever thought he would face.  
Humans.

It started a little over a year ago. They had arrived by the boatload on the shores of the Eastern Caves. A couple thousand. So much for his reign as Last Human. Finn hadn’t minded. It was a boring title anyway.

They claimed they were from a land far away from Ooo. Days upon days of travel on their worn, wooden ships. It had been clear from the beginning they feared the land’s citizens. Blades and weapons drawn, they advanced inland. When they realized most of the citizens existed - could talk, they were baffled and befuddled. The leaders of the kingdoms took to meeting with them. Where and why had they come?  
Claims of their land being taken over. Forced to flee. Stink and rot of radioactivity permeating from them. Even after the royalty gave them land, allowed them to settle, their paranoia was obvious. Hostile even to those who were friendly; including audacious demands to the kingdoms. Not all of them were bad. Finn could say that, but the population in general; something was amuck. Something stank. Something familiar. Marceline said it was their nature. Their nature that got them killing themselves off in the first place. Finn smelled Lich.  
It didn’t take long before their delusionary visions and fear caused them to attack. It seemed like the old, “get them before they get us”, routine. Ooo might not have been perfect. Ooo might not always be fair and just, but the kingdoms kept to themselves mostly – were friendly, respectful. They avoided war at all costs. Greed appeared to lay heavy in humans.

It was amazing how much said humans had gained somewhat of an upper hand, even outnumbered their native citizens. Ooo had never seen a large war though. They didn’t know how to deal with it. Half of Ooo’s citizens couldn’t wield a weapon, let alone move very efficiently. Whoever wasn’t made out of edible food, had other dire weaknesses. They doused the troops from the fire kingdom with water. They’d stolen as many counter spells as they could from Wizard city in a pre-emptive strike before they declared war. The Ice Kingdom was attacked with fire, and beasts of the night were ambushed by sunlight.

For such small, weak things, the humans were crafty, cunning and dangerous.  
Finn was ashamed to be one. 

He knew in his heart the people who mattered and cared about him didn’t see him that way. It still nagged at him. The potential he had within his being to be so…nasty. Speaking of said people; he glances out the window. Dim oranges and purples began to paint the sky. It was getting late. Jake had already been to visit. He was back with Lady and his hooligan kids. Grown as they were, they were all shacking up together as the newfound war treaded on. Jake knew Finn was as safe as he could be at the castle, but feared being separated from his family. Finn understood. There was currently no battle raging outside or in the recently bloodied fields of the grasslands, as a brief respite that would last for an indefinite amount of time had taken place. Though that didn’t mean there wasn’t more to come. Peppermint Butler had told him this upon his awakening when Finn demanded to know what was going on – where his friends were. Where Bubblegum was. 

The Princess and Marceline were attending negotiations. Peppermint said they should be back by sundown. Anxious jitters again. The sun was setting. Finn wished he were there; to have their backs, to be privy to what was going on. To make sure nobody laid a finger upon them. He was alone in the infirmary, as the candy citizens who were wounded could be pieced back together relatively quickly, if they weren’t dead.  
He buries his hands in his hair. Immobility was insanely frustrating.

Then he hears them.

The faint sound of their voices drawing near. Not the banter he was used to. Hushed and serious. Back and forth; light feminine echoes in the castle corridors. He sighs. They were alive and well. It sounds freaking magical. He can’t move to bound out of the bed toward them like he wants. Funny thing about near death experiences; makes a body appreciate all they have. Everyone they have. It took all he had for he and Jake not to crush each other earlier. His wound is far too tender and grievous for that.

Finn can see shadows lit by candles dancing along the outside of the door. They slow to a stop before he can see them. 

“You’re Majesties.” Peppermint Butler approaches them from the other end of the hall. Finn can’t hear what they were saying. He bounces impatiently in his bed, fingers shuffling and scratching at his legs in anticipation. He knows they’re fine but he needs to see them. Needs to see that they are okay after that last fight. Wants them to know he’s alright too. He wants long hugs with his nose buried in cold, pale skin; rain, wood, the rocks of the caves. Salty like the waves crashing into them. And warm cotton candy – sticky sweet. Hot cinnamon breath in his ear. He wants his ladies.

Peppermint is still talking to Bubblegum, but finally, Marceline appears and crosses the threshold. Her face had been blank when she entered, but upon seeing Finn awake, his expression anxious and ecstatic all at the same time, she beams.

She lifts off the ground, shooting toward him faster than he can register. Her control remains steady as she halts in midair before colliding, as to not hurt him further, to loop her arms around his neck.

“Don’t friggin’ scare us like that again F-Bomb or I’ll end you myself, hear me?”

“Might be more preferable than this bed.”

They stay embraced for a while after that. Content. Happy the other is safe. Finn adores Marceline. She is as bro as a ladybro can get; he could say or ask anything around her. Even fart. When he’d turned sixteen two years ago, she’d offered him advice on anything he needed. Hinting mostly towards girls. She had claimed that although Jake was his best bud, he was still a dude…and a dog. He’d eyed her suspiciously. She slapped him on the back and promised she wouldn’t troll him again like she had when he was twelve and tried to ask Bubbs to the movies.

She’d proven sincere in her offer and was always around to facilitate Finn’s pubescent curiosity and sheer confusion. Often confusing him even further, to which she would laugh. At first he was embarrassed about some of the junk that came out of his mouth, but Marceline had a way of making light of what he asked – and at the same time, answering him honestly. She consistently coated her answers with the perfect amount of humor to make the situation more comfortable. After a short time, it felt just like talking to Jake. He even bashfully remembered the time they were at her place jamming and he balled up enough to ask her for a feel.

“Can I touch your boobs? Just to see what it’s like.”

She strummed her bass.

“No.”

“Not even for a minute?”

“Nah.”

“Aw, ok…”

She sighed. “You can touch one. But not both. I recommend the right.”

“For a minute?”

“For five seconds.”

“Math.”

When they pull apart from their hug, it’s to a steadily rising voice, dripping with distain and anger.

“Wretched and vile creatures…”

More curses.

“…they not know I built this kingdom from the ground up?!”

A thud and a crash. The candle shadows disappear. Darkness in the hall. A corridor bureau flipped, no doubt. She had a habit of doing that.  
Finn and Marceline exchange amused glances. 

When Princess Bubblegum walks in, she’s seething from head to toe. Gummy hands balled into shaking fists at her sides. Lips pursed and eyes that would shoot lasers if she glared any harder.  
Upon seeing Finn though, she softens; tension released from her body. Her blue eyes grow wide and soft again. Sour mouth now parted, lips full.

“Finn!”

She doesn’t get over quite as fast as Marceline, as land dwellers are wont to do, but she hurries, taking care not to injure him as Marceline did when going in for the hug. She’s standing, hands in his tousled blonde locks – mindful about keeping his head above chest level, something Finn always noticed she did. Though it was less a concern for her now that he was taller than her while standing. The crook between her neck and shoulder was free game though and he takes advantage with a big, unabashed inhalation.

“I thought we’d lost you for good this time.” Sweet whispers in his ear, warm and comforting.

“I don’t really know how I didn’t croak. What happened anyway? How am I actually still kickin’? Jake didn’t see,” Finn asks as Bubblegum pulls away from him to sit on the bed.

“Marcy saved you,” Bubblegum replies; a shy, thankful smile creeping onto her face as she glances at Marceline, who shuffles a little uncomfortably. She scratches the back of her head.

“Not as well as I’d like to have. Sorry dude.”

Finn grins and lifts his fist to the vampire. “I’m alive thanks to you, lady. Sorry is most definitely not necessary.”

She returns the bump.

“What happened to the guy that split me?”

“I ate him.”

“Gnarly.”

A fanged grin spreads across her face. “And the other five guys that were hovering around you. Got a little… carried away I guess.” Her eyes trail away from Finn to meet with Bubblegum’s stoic gaze. They speak something to one another without words that Finn was lost on. He doesn’t care.  
Turning to the princess, he questions, “Take it your negotiations didn’t go too well?”

Bubblegum closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She is wound and stressed and feeling more hopeless as the weeks dredge on. When she opens them again, her gaze is firm and resolute. 

“No. They didn’t.”  
Finn crinkles his nose, huffs. The young man was good with his body and a weapon. He’s learned to be practical at making decisions, but politics, law and greed he does not comprehend as his older companions do. 

“What’s gonna happen?”

Bubblegum and Marceline’s eyes connect before she addresses Finn’s question.

“We have two weeks – both sides – to draw up terms. This meeting was rushed, nearly informal. No one expected anything to get settled. It was a jumping point to see where both sides stood, and to truce the fighting temporarily.”

Finn manages to crack a bit of a smile, “Two weeks, that’s pretty long, right? That will buy us some time to think of a plan, yeah?”  
The princess flashes him a forced smile. He’d always been one to look on the bright side, but things looked grim. Worse than grim. She’s not telling him everything and for good reason. No need to excite or panic him in his condition. She’s glad he’s not asking more.

“Yeah. It’s some time,” she agrees. “They didn’t want that long at first but I made them aware that each of the kingdoms are a fair distance apart. It will take some time for us to coordinate terms that everyone can agree upon. They’ve got one main base. But they’re loaded as far as numbers and defence go. They don’t have to go far for communication. It will also give us more time to scope them out. I know it goes both ways but they’ve likely been doing recon on everyone since they got here. I don`t really think it matters.” 

She looks down with a grimace; mad at herself for not seeing it sooner. For not being able to do anything about it now.  
A deep frown settles on Finn’s face. Lifting his blanket, he eyes the wound on his left abdomen. Bubblegum takes a peek with him to make sure he isn’t bleeding through his bandages.

“Wish I could help,” he sulks. “I’m pro ninja at stealth.”

He’s sad. Genuinely sad at being helpless. Marceline is empathetic. She knows him well enough to know that lying in this bed while his friends fight is near death to him.

“Stealth eh?” she punches his arm lightly, joking. “Didn’t you sneak into the Nightosphere with nothing but your jammy jams and a paper plate mask?”  
She’s awarded with a pearly white, shit eating grin; toothless in some spots. “And it worked!”

“I think it was your political rap that really saved the day.”

An un-princess like snort comes out of Bubblegum, replaced immediately with a genuine smile she can’t hide. “Wish I was there for that one.”  
Finn takes that as a cue.

“Oh girl, you shoulda seen me!” he mimics the dramatic spinning of turntables with his arms as best as his injured body will allow him and belts out on the fly;

“Them Nightosphere demons didn’t have nothin’ on me,  
I was the baddest little human that they ever did see.  
Until a hoard dun came, and cut me down,  
Nasty, raiding humans be punkin’ our town.  
But hear me now, when I’m good to go,  
I’ll send those jokers packin’ to the down below.  
I’m out!”

Marceline lets out a whistle and a slow clap. Bubblegum is left silent laughing at the end of the bed before composing herself.  
“I was wondering how you managed to jack Rap Bear’s title,” she manages in between catching her breath. “Curiosity sated.”

Finn puffs up. He’s always proud when he does well; no matter how trivial it is. It’s part of the reason they love him.  
Bubblegum reaches a hand to jostle his knee gently. “And thank you,” she tells him, sincerely. “I haven’t had a good laugh since the cotton candy hit the fan on this whole war business.”

“Always at your service, milady.”

“I don’t doubt that, Finn,” she sighs, “but it’s getting late and you need your rest.”

He pouts. The visit was short. He opens his mouth to argue, but is interrupted.

The pink monarch points a regal finger at him, “That’s an order, champion.”

“He’s not the only one that needs sleep,” Marceline pipes up. She’s met with Bubblegum’s stern gaze, but no rebuttal.  
The princess knows she tends to throw herself into her lab work, experiments and boring royal duties in general when she’s stressed. It’s her therapy. Often missing out on days of sleep, food and sunlight. Signing treaties and writing by-laws - glob, its like, better than binging on ice cream while doing yoga combined for her.

But this situation is different. This is the entirety of Ooo, and it is at stake. It would do no good to any of the kingdoms or their citizens to have one of their leaders in anything but tip top shape. Peppermint had been consistently on her case about that.

Marceline is tired too, Bubblegum can tell. Her gaze is strong, but she can see the fatigue in the vampire. Her sleep schedule has been all kinds of whack – even gotten hit by sun a few times, not that she can’t take a bit of heat, but it’s drained her – all of them, really. And respite or not, there’s still work to do.

The dark haired girl stands. Bubblegum follows suit. They each bid him goodnight with a hug.

“Y’all gonna come visit tomorrow sometime?” he looks up at them, hopefully. It’s lonely in the infirmary. He’s the last person that should be there.  
Bubblegum frowns. “I have…much to do, Finn, but I’ll try.”

He’s not happy. It shows, but he understands.

“I’ll come dude,” Marceline says. “I’ve got shizz to do, and vamps to order around, but I’m friggin’ exhausted. Haven’t slept in two days; out in the sun all day today. I could use a break while Bonnie does boring correspondence.”

Bubblegum doesn’t argue. For the most lax and carefree monarch she knows, Marceline has been invaluable as an ally in combat, and more importantly; as a friend in personal and emotional support. She wants nothing more than to have her well rested.

Finn seems happy with this. “I can dig that. We can chill here for as long as you need. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”  
“Sure thing. Night, Finn.”

“Goodnight ladies.”

He watches as the two took their leave; Marceline so tired, she walks, instead of floating, alongside the princess. Their footfalls sliding into synchronicity as they walked out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Their walk to Bonnibel’s tower is silent. Marceline follows the princess into her chambers and closes the door. Wordlessly, they begin shuffling off layers of clothing. Marceline shrugs off the black, metal armour Bubblegum insisted she start wearing. Marceline can heal, but wounds still hurt and the sun is still deadly. Bonnibel herself begins unlacing the corset of her too fancy, overblown gown. It’s a stuffy thing; pointless. Not functional at all, too razzle dazzle. She wore it to the meeting for appearances only. She’s never really liked any of the overly pompous gowns she has. Parties, balls, functions – they all require her to dress up, and she enjoys it, but she wears nice, flowy dresses. Sometimes tight ones, sometimes other things. Never the ones that drop all the way to the floor in a heaping pile of thick fabric. Never the layers upon layers. Never the extra, twenty pound bulk. It’s too much.

She fusses with the lace, reaching awkwardly behind her back in attempt to pull the corset string loose. It’s not working. An over-reactive grumble escapes her and it looks like she’s almost about to flip something again. Taking a deep breath, her lungs expel an exasperated sigh.

“Ugh!” Her hands drop to her sides, head whipping around, away from her mirror to Marceline. She’s so frustrated with everything going on right now, tears start to swell in the corners of her eyes. “Can you, do this?”

Marceline lets out a small chuckle, just one quick exhalation before she’s frowning again. She pretends not to see the tears and walks over. Behind Bonnibel, she looks into the mirror she’s positioned in front of. Marceline can’t see herself and Bonnibel can’t see her staring into her eyes. A slim, pale finger hooks under the strings and tugs it loose. She follows the crisscrossing rows down, pulling, unraveling.

“What are we going to do?” Marceline finally asks in a levelled tone, breaking the near silence.

She’s still staring at Bubblegum through the mirror. The princess’s eyes are far away.

“I don’t really know. I’m sure we can negotiate some things and most of the kingdoms will come out alright, but as for their chief demand of the Candy Kingdom specifically, I don’t know if –“

“They can’t have you. You can’t let them do that.”

“I might not have a choice. If it will keep my citizens safe, if it will prevent war, I –“

Marceline tugs extra hard on the last bit of string. 

“Fuck that.”

Bubblegum rarely hears the old curses come out of the vampire’s mouth anymore. A long time ago they used to slip out on the regular, but not so much these days. Though with the way things have been going, she suspects a comeback might be about to take place. Only when Marceline is at a loss for words emotionally do they tend to surface; when nothing else quite captures her feelings and there’s no bass to echo a melody.  
Bonnibel drops her gaze to her feet, shuffles them. “It’s me or everyone else. Probably. It’s my duty to keep them safe. I can’t just be selfish.”  
She’s surprised when strong hands clasp her shoulders, spinning her around. Face to face with a crimson gaze – it’s startling. Marceline is fuming.

“You have done everything for these useless candy balls – “

“They’re not useless.”

“Yes, they are. They can’t tell their hands from their feet, their ice cream from their cones, the cake from their frosting – Bonnie, you made them. You did everything. They wouldn’t be here in the first place if it wasn’t for you. And I’m sorry, but they’re not the brightest things Ooo has ever seen. You’re like their mother - their babysitter, if anything.”

Bonnibel breaks eye contact, averts her gaze as quickly as possible. She knows what Marceline is saying about her citizens is mostly true, and that’s why she has to protect them. Her citizens, in a way, are also like her children. She can’t just go to war if she can avoid it.

“Look at me.” It’s not a question. Marceline grips her chin, tugs it back so they’re face to face again. It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so forward.

“You don’t owe them. They owe you. If they don’t care that their leader is willing to sacrifice herself for their sakes, then they don’t deserve to be saved. You know what they’ll do to you…” Marceline’s voice shakes at the last bit. It gets a little higher, a little panicked.

“You know what they’ll do right?”

Bubblegum doesn’t answer.

Marceline shakes her a bit. “Right?”

Along with various other demands of each of the kingdoms, one of the human’s main terms regarding the Candy Kingdom is their lone princess. They want Bubblegum. All of her. They’ve become privy to her age and want her near immortal secret. She’s already told them she can’t replicate herself or humans in her lab, nor can she make any of the current living humans ageless. They don’t fully believe her. They know she’s smart. They want her to continue to experiment, but for them. Regardless if she can whip something up, they want to give their children a chance with her genes; to breed her with their leader and the rest of the higher ups. Pass her around like a hot potato. The leader wants to keep her though. He wants a queen and a kingdom to inherit. She thinks if she’s lucky, if she gives herself up, she can negotiate how much power she will have over her own kingdom, what will happen to her citizens, keep relations and trade with the other kingdoms. The humans would still reap the benefits.

“I know…” she says softly. 

“We can’t let them. You can’t let them, and I sure won’t.”

Bubblegum brushes Marceline away and slumps down in her chair. She’s defeated, tired. Of course she’s been trying to find a way around this all day, but the pink princess is a logical and practical lady. Her friend is right and her own ‘army’, can’t tell their heads from their asses. They will be obliterated. Sacrifice one or sacrifice all. Those were her options. She didn’t like them, but that’s what they were. The sooner she accepted it, the sooner this would be over.

“That’s sweet of you,” Bonnibel mumbles. Her head is resting on a closed palm, elbow on the desk, slumped in the chair – proper posture gone with the wind. No one sees her like this but Marceline and Peppermint, and occasionally, Finn.

“It’s nice that you want to stick up for me,” she finishes, looking up to Marceline with a weak smile.

The vampire is still standing where Bonnibel left her; shoulders slumped, heartbroken expression on her face. She’s never seen her old friend look like this before. Her youthful face is devastation; sadness and anger balled into one. She carries the same defeat as the princess herself.

“Someone has to, especially if you won’t stick up for yourself.”

“Right now, Marceline, I just don’t see a way around it. We have two weeks though. I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now.”  
There’s a finality to her words. Marceline sighs. There will be time to talk later and they’re both exhausted.

Marceline’s cold hands find the hem of her thin tunic and lift it over her head. She’s left in her pants and an undershirt of sorts. She leaves her armour and other articles on Bubblegum’s desk and heads toward her washroom. The castle has been pretty full these days. Ambassadors and dignitaries from the other kingdoms, nobles from her own and various others have taken up camp in the candy castle. Marceline has situated herself there as well. It’s been more convenient. She claimed she didn’t need much, and opted to a tiny room without an adjoining bathroom. Bonnibel had put up somewhat of an argument. She wanted everyone to be comfortable. Marceline insisted she was fine. The dignitaries could have what they wanted.

“It’s whatever,” she had said. “I’ll just treat myself to the royalist of royal showers. You don’t mind, eh Bon? I mean so long as you’re cool with clogged drains – I have lots of hair you know – and I can’t promise I won’t steal your loofa. Also, I don’t wash my own towels. An hour isn’t too long for me to take up the bathroom, right?”

Bonnibel had rolled her eyes, but Marceline’s special mixture of annoyance and humor was all but welcome given the current state of things. She knows Marceline is exaggerating most of those facts. This wouldn’t be the first time they’re shared close quarters. 

“Yes, Marceline. You can use my shower,” she had agreed with a shake of her head.

“Cool.”

With the door closed over, not quite shut tight, Bonnibel hears the shower spring to life. Standing, she shrugs off her now loosened gown, letting it fall haphazardly to the floor, leaving her in her shift. It’s not much, but she’s covered and she desperately needed that dress off.  
She knows she should fall into her oversized bed immediately, but Marceline still being in the other room is an excuse to sit down at her desk and begin drawing up plans for tomorrow.

With her glasses perched loosely on her face and her desk lamp the only source of light, she loses herself in legal documents, barely registering when Peppermint knocks and enters the room.

“Brought you some tea, majesty,” he says, padding over to the table. He has to reach up on his tippy toes to set her mug and a glass of red liquid on the elevated desk.

Bubblegum manages to tear her gaze from her papers. “Thanks Pep.”

“I suggest you get some sleep as soon as you’re finished, otherwise I’ve got no deal coming back in here and crushing the lightbulb out of the lamp socket, with all due respect.”

He’s right. She smiles warmly at her loyal butler. “I will. I promise. Here,” Bonnibel reaches for Marceline’s belongings. She grabs the armour and hands it to Peppermint. She notices the tunic on the stool to her opposite side and on instinct, leaves it. The little striped man doesn’t notice as the armour is overflowing in his tiny arms.

“Can you take that down to Marcy’s room or should I have someone else?”

He wobbles for a minute, then balances. “I got this, I got this,” he assures her.

He looks pretty dang cute, even though he’s struggling and Bubblegum can’t help but smile warmly. “Thanks,”

“It’s what I’m here for,” he says, taking an unsteady leave. “And get some sleep!”

“I will!” She calls back as his little foot hooks around the door and flings it shut.

Bubblegum is granted five more minutes of work before she hears the shower turn off and Marceline emerges from the bathroom toweling her hair off. She’s tossed her undershirt and loose pants back on, not bothering to do them up. She’ll change into something fresh when she gets down to her room. Contrary to her teasing before bunking in the castle, she only takes twenty minutes in the bathroom and Bubblegum has never found any hairs left in her drain.

“Pep left you something to drink,” she says, motioning to the glass left untouched on the desk.

The vampire flairs her nostrils and walks over, eyes registering for a split second the flimsy, thin article of clothing Bonnie has left herself in. Quickly, she focuses back on the drink. Bonnibel watches as she lifts the glass to her lips and takes some of the colour. Her face crinkles a bit. Bubblegum frowns.

“Not quite the same I take it?”

Marceline’s eyes dart back and forth, anywhere but to the blue ones that are on her. She shrugs.

“Been eating red for a thousand years, I can handle it for a thousand or so more. It is what it is.”

Bonnibel nods and Marceline is silent as she drains the rest of the red from the liquid. When they were attacked in the night without warning, she had her first taste of human blood. The affect it had on her during and the following moments directly afterward were shocking, to say the least, and not only for her. She was embarrassed and ashamed at her violent loss of control. It was a good thing she had snapped back to reality when she did. They haven’t talked about it.

Marceline sets the glass down and Bubblegum notices her glancing about the table.

“Your slave take my stuff for me?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” she shifts her weight. “Well, I’m heading to bed. …You should too. Seriously, Bon.”

The princess nods. “I am. Really, I’m tired.”

Marceline sighs. “Good,” she turns toward the door. “Well, night, Bonnie. Wake me up earlier if you need me but I can’t take too many daylight hours tomorrow. I’ll be up mid-afternoon, kay?”

The look the vampire is given is a little defeated, mostly tired, but Bubblegum manages her steadfast, trademark smile. 

“Goodnight, Marcy.”

When the other girl departs and closes the door, Bonnibel rubs her temples and removes her glasses. She rises from her seat, stiff with exhaustion and slumps toward the bathroom. She lazily brushes her teeth and washes her face. A shower can wait until morning. The light is flicked off and she’s back at her desk. Before she extinguishes the lamp there, Bonnibel removes her shift and tosses it to the floor. Reaching down, she grasps the forgotten tunic and pulls it over her head before plunging her room into darkness and collapsing into bed. Sleep takes her instantly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a two part post. Enjoy :)

Its four in the afternoon when Marceline’s phone begins buzzing, telling her to roll her butt out of bed. The snooze goes off four times before she actually manages the task. With a good stretch and crack of her back, she yawns, feeling much better after being unconscious for a solid nine hours.

The fresh feeling disappears almost instantly when she remembers where she is and why she’s there. Probably the worst scenario in which to have a good old fashioned sleepover in the Candy Castle. Bubblegum hadn’t sent for her, so she must be busy and not need anything from her at the moment. Marceline was planning to head around to all the places in the area where she knew the other vampires resided. Of course she had to wait until sundown when they were awake. There’s not much she can do at the moment to help. That’s the worst part. She thinks that must be how Finn is feeling.

Oh, right. She said she would visit.

A pair of jeans and a hoodie are selected from the closet where she’s stored a decent amount of her clothing for the duration of her stay. Sun is still out and the castle has windows. Marceline flips up the oversized hood and floats out of her room towards the infirmary, keeping to the shadows along the corridor as she goes.

When she reaches the entranceway, she puts on a bit of a smile.

“Hey, dude.”

Finn looks up from the magazine he’s reading – or looking at. Marceline has never known him to be a great reader.

“Marcy, hey! I was wondering if you’d show up.”

The vampire pulls her feet off the ground, lifting to the air and reclining back. “Course I did. Said I would, didn’t I? How’s the ol’ gut?”

Finn glances down to his bandaged torso. “Been better, but, can’t complain; a hero does what is necessary.”

He makes a fist to prove his point. It looks painful for him to do so. Marceline can’t fault him for that, but he should know better that he doesn’t need to impress her with unnecessary gestures.

“How goes the plans?” he asks, hopefully. They both know he knows nothing of terms and treaties and negotiations. Bubblegum’s strict orders until she’s figured something out.

“Oh, you know,” Marceline says, as nonchalant as she can, arms coming to rest behind her head. “Bubs is figuring stuff out, no worries.”

She can tell he’s fishing for information, and she doesn’t want to be the one to divulge. But, hey, reiterating what he already knows will reassure the kid of his importance.

“I’m heading to the caves to rally my vamps tonight, so it’s all good. The Kingdom is in pretty decent shape; not too much damage. Sucks the fields and the treehouse got torched though. Man, Bonnie and I built that thing up pretty good – glad it was you and Jake who found it. Did my old fort justice.”

She’s in a pleasant state of reminiscence when she watches the blood drain from his face.

“The treehouse is _what?_ ”

She almost drops to the ground.

_‘Whoops. Damnit, Jake.’_ As _if_ he failed to mention _that._

Finn’s head stoops so low it’s almost in his pants. “Gone? Really?” His blonde head creaks to the side, staring hopefully upon her, but Marceline is aware that he knows what’s up. He’s just searching for that hopefulness that comes with youth – with humans. She lost that a long ass time ago. Finn is learning. His expression though, the way he asked; there’s a deep twist of knowing seeping through his question. It’s not like the innocence she was first met with upon their initial encounters. He surprises her and it’s pleasant. Its nice when someone does the opposite of disappoint, like you assume they will; like she’s accustomed to. Everyone who stays disappoints eventually. It doesn’t always mean letting them go, but they still do it, regardless. She likes him more for this. There’s a huff of acceptance in his question.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. It’s not her fault, they both know, but for whatever reason she still feels she owes him that. She doesn’t, but someone ought to say it to him. It was Finn’s home, after all. Glob knows the humans won’t be writing a formal apology.

He looks away, fiddling with the thin, dull blankets in his hands. Blue like his eyes, and stitched straight and plain like his countenance. Marceline watches the acceptance settle in. Knowing it won’t be today that a full realization sinks and settles into his bones, but whatever he needs, she will facilitate. She knows full well what it’s like to have home ripped away from you, or leave on its own.

A shift in energy leaves her settling lower toward the bed. Marceline is about to say something to break the silence, but Finn beats her to it.

“You and PB…were roommates?”

The question is incredulous, and peppered with humour. She can tell he is both changing the subject and genuinely curious. There is no blame there. Marceline has no idea what Bonnie has gone babbling about to him regarding their history. Judging by Finn’s anticipation of the question, it seems like it’s been nothing particularly juicy or informative. She’s not surprised. Bonnibel isn’t one to blabber. There’s a strange sense of pride there, knowing that Finn is considered a close friend and comrade, yet even he is not privy to the inner workings of their monarch’s brain and history. Or maybe Bubblegum simply does not care enough to warrant their history. The self-depreciating side of Marceline tells herself that’s probably the case, yet, there is some part of her that feels confident – almost invincible, even god-like, circulating within and fueling the dark demon her body is encased of, that smirks at that, knowing it certainly is anything but true.

Bonnibel is a princess. She keeps her casing sharp like a diamond; impenetrable save to anything but a demon’s tooth. Finn is oblivious to her. Ooo even more so. But Marceline is not. And that has always been her favourite part.

“Yeah man, for a while,” she answers, not really there, drifting off into memory.

“Dude, like, when exactly was this?”

Finn’s voice breaks Marceline out of her reverie.

She’s not one hundred percent sure how to answer that. Things were…complicated.

“Uh, like in the treehouse, or in general?”

His eyes go wide. He’s taking in new information that will take a good few moments to process. It’s clear he doesn’t know how to proceed with his inquiries. Marceline won’t bait. Neither she nor Bubblegum has ever divulged the information, so Finn is at least smart enough to know he won’t get anything he does not ask for. Kind of comes with the territory when dealing with folks of old, Marceline has realized. She just simply does not care enough to share with someone or something so finite. And being a thousand, her memories feel like they stretch for an eternity. Where does one even begin? What’s the point?

She watches his facial expression shift. Finn doesn’t want to overstep his bounds. It’s kind of cute. He finally gets something together.

“How long have you two actually known each other?”

Ah, there’s at least something. A decent question. It’s strange; Marceline never wants to tell, but there are times when she wants nothing to do but answer.

Her weightless posture amongst the hollow air is solid and sturdy, yet she’s never divulged this information before. She is startled upon realizing she is shaking. She wonders if Finn can see the vibrations amongst her body. Memories are memories; she can replay and dissect them in the confines of her head, but none of this has even been said aloud. She’ll calm down if, and once, she starts blabbering. She’s almost sure. Almost.

“Ehh, since before I became Queen. After I was turned vamp though,” she shrugs, nonchalantly.

His head does this weird, shaky thing. “Wait, you weren’t always a vampire?”

She wants to both slap him upside his bullgunked head for being such a ding dong and thank him for the shift in subject. Marceline isn’t sure which issue is more painful; Bonnie or the night she died, but with the uplifting feels in her gut, she assumes this is the right course. This garbage is hard too, but damn, some things might feel real good to let out. No one ever asks. Finn is asking.

“No, dingus, I wasn’t always a vampire.” Marceline swipes slowly at his head on purpose, letting him duck under her lazy hand.

“Thought I told you that when I told you about Simon…” That had been hard enough. “Vampires can’t age, and I used to be young, but I’ve always been part demon, through and through, I mean, I guess I have…” Maybe she didn’t mention it outright. Thought he assumed. He’s never been the brightest at deductions.

Finn gives her a glance. No, it’s not a glance, it’s a cocky glare. He’s only recently just established such a look. Marceline has far surpassed her initial scare phases with him, but damn if she doesn’t have some tricks up her sleeve. Regardless, Finn has placed himself in a small circle of respect in Marceline’s eyes and such tomfoolery and parlour tricks are above him, whether she wants them to be or not. She can shift and slither, crush and strangle him to death if she wanted, but they both know she won’t do that. And, hey, it’s kind of nice knowing that someone just wants to rap. Yet, she doesn’t quite know what he wants.

“Dude,” she sighs, “You’re all over the place. What do you want to hear?”

Finn’s mouth opens; gapes like a silly fish. He doesn’t even know. Now that she’s asking him, - really asking him, and apparently open to the idea of enlightening him, he has to really consider it. Come to think of it – he’s never really given it much thought. Well, obviously Marcy is old, but Finn has never really considered what that might mean, until now. It’s kinda rude to just jump all up in on peep’s bizz, but here they are. He doesn’t know where to start. Maybe that’s what he should do; just start. After all, now that he’s thinking about it, for every question that pops into his head, two more arise right after. Two of his straight up BFF’s are like, mega ancient. His mind is reeling.

“I dunno. Well…Marcy, where’d you come from? Hook me up with the intro, everyone’s got one. I mean, if you’re cool with that…”

She’s comfy the air, and she supposes Finn’s question is the least most specific he could ask. Plus she knows the answer, so that’s good. No one else knows, except Bonnie, but it was a slew of quick facts and rushed words. Nothing special.

Marceline gazes at Finn upon his bed; glued to it like a caterpillar in its cocoon. He’s mortal, he must heal, shift, change - all before he dies, otherwise who knows what will happen to him. She has eternity. She likes him, even if he is stupid. She can at least give him this.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> second part of a two part post. Have a long one.

Hunson Abadeer is bored. He’s been bored for multiple millenniums, actually.   He wasn’t always though. It was pretty fun at first; ruling the plane that sits between life and the void for the restless, tainted souls. The bad ones. His will amongst his realm is absolute – anything he says, or thinks, goes. Not a bad setup. And oh, humans were so much fun in the beginning. They’re hilarious. They show up after they die all confused and junk, screaming things like, _“Why am I here!?”_ or, _“What did I do to deserve this?”_

They ask him, beg him to tell them when they can leave, if he’ll let them go. Hunson tells them they’ll remain for eternity. And they do. They remain solely because they believe him. That’s the best part – the funniest part. Any soul stuck within the Night and transformed demon can leave whenever they want and have their peace until they’re reborn and materialized again, that’s the beauty of it.

His home is a place of learning, that’s what Hunson likes to think of it as. Just because they die, doesn’t mean they’re done learning life lessons. One enters the Night because they’re not ready to move on. They haven’t learned enough about themselves yet – their true selves. They’re latching and hanging on. They put themselves there.

He’s bored of his teaching job though. Too long in one spot will leave a body to grow sour and hateful. That’s part of the irony. Anyone else can leave, he cannot. Hunson’s entire existence is thanks to the humans. In their constant need to have things explained, they dreamt him up. He was nothing but a figment, an idea. One so powerful and collective of the human whole that it grew to be regarded as truth. And truth he became. Now he is here, thanks to them. Stupid things.

There are some days when he wonders if there will come a time where he might be forgotten enough to disappear into the void the demons in his lair beg him so desperately for. He doesn’t think it will come. There are enough demons in that place to cover the earth ten-fold. Even if all the humans die out, most of them will show up here, and in being here, they will perpetuate his existence. He’s not even allowed to help them – give them hints to getting out; saving them and thus potentially cutting off the source of his entire being because _they_ made him that way! One big, dumb, cycle. He’s so over it.

He’s even over crossing over into the material plane. It would happen randomly. That was something he didn’t control. That was fun for the first few millenniums and Hunson used to love scaring the shit out of everybody. Sometimes some of the other demons can still make it across. They’re usually the freshly pissed off ones; jealous of the living. Their envy so great that they know to do nothing but terrorize. People hate the thought of demons but it happens sometimes on purpose; like with great cults, or incantations. Sometimes it’s by accident if fear of the monster under the bed is great enough – either way, it’s usually a human’s fault. Sometimes it’s a demon’s doing though. The want and need to be back alive becomes so great that a demonic soul will split through the rift and take over a body that does not belong to them. That doesn’t usually last though. It’s not the same.

Hunson always laughs at that. The demons are so dumb that they don’t even realize that the will they’ve applied to forcing themselves back into a human body is one and the same as the will that will get them the plop out of the Night in the first place. Some are able to do it; touch the realization that they are the master of their own souls and not him. But most never learn.

Its dumb shit like that that makes him so listless and bored in the first place.

It was sheer luck that one night as he was being particularly reflective and moody that the wall of his kitchen split open.

He wasn’t intending on answering it. He hasn’t for years now. Could have closed it or chuckled and sent someone else through. Some demon who’d kill for the chance to be sent through to the material plane. But, after his contemplations, he’s feeling rather romantic about the whole situation. He’s ancient enough to know when something seems coincidental, or out of place, there’s usually a reason for it. He steps through the portal.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s always a surprise walking into the human world. Hunson never knows who or what will be there to greet him. This time, it’s certainly interesting, to say the least.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Amber, shit! What the fuck is that? What did we _do_?!”

“Shut _up_ , Tiffany! It worked!”

Hunson adjusts to the new surroundings. The light from the portal is blinding in the dark room. The mesh between the elements of each of the planes does not work well together for the senses – he can’t see. He closes it. While he has to wait to be summoned here, he belongs to the Night. He can always get back.

The two young women, Amber and Tiffany - if he heard correctly, are directly in front of him. One of them is cowering in a corner. His blood red gaze meets her horrified eyes. Before she can blink, she is rushing out of the room as fast as she can.

“Tiffany! Wait! Ugh!”

The one remaining, Amber, is sitting against the wall. Hunson figures she can’t be much older than twenty. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, pale skin contrasting heavily with her black ensemble. Dark lacquered nails painted midnight upon small hands clasp a large book close to her heaving breast. The book likely being the source of information that convinced her she could bring him here. Not like the book or the rituals actually matter. They’re just tools, and he’s never seen the exact same technique twice. He stares into her eyes. She is nervous, but not afraid.

Oh, he knows where this is going. Well, maybe. It`s usually either one of two things. Certainly not the first time he’s stumbled upon this little scenario. Most of the time it happens in some wooded area or large basement with a fair amount of people chanting ridiculously. This is pretty cozy.  

He glances about the miniscule bedroom. A small dresser stands on one end next to the tiny closet with cheap jewellery and make up sprawled amongst its surface. Double bed unmade and pressed against the only wall available, taking up most of the space. Most of the white walls have been covered with tacky posters. Looking down, Hunson notices the salt. He takes a step forward to test it, watching Amber tense upon seeing his attempt to approach.

He can`t though. The salt is doing its job. Rather, Amber is doing its job. He`s impressed. This isn`t the first time Hunson has been trapped in a salt circle, though more often than not, they don`t work. Many times, once he`s actually pulled through, whoever is there on the other side, in their fear, begins to second guess themselves; to doubt. _What if the salt doesn`t work?_ And then they lose themselves. _Oh my God, it’s not going to work._ They picture in their minds eye, him stepping through without effort. _There’s no way salt can stop a demon! What was I thinking – fucking salt!?_ And so he does.

This circle holds steady. So, Hunson is left to gaze upon the woman who summoned him. She hasn’t said anything, not that he can blame her. So, he goes first.

“You rang?”

He watches Amber’s eyes expand like great saucers when his deep voice reaches her ears, smooth vibrations entering and shaking up her insides.

Finding her confidence, she gets to her knees and places her book to the side.

“Y-yes! Oh, dark master, harbinger of souls and lord of the dead!”

A smirk threatens to crack on his cold, stony visage.

Amber throws herself down in an exaggerated bow and continues.

“I pledge myself to you, great one! Body and soul! To honour and serve you upon the earthly realm. All I desire is you, take me, please!”

Hunson cocks his head.

“Sorry, that was all a little convoluted. You want me to kill you and take your soul into Hell orrrr…..”

Lifting herself back up, Amber shakes her head.

“No, no! Don’t kill me! I mean - ! If it is your will, then I can’t like, stop you and stuff. But, no, I mean like, _take me_ ,” she says, suggestively. “Know what I mean?”

Hunson huffs. It is as he had assumed before. One of two scenarios. One usually involves a sacrifice in his honour – to get something. Sometimes humans even sacrifice each other, which always leaves him thinking, like whaaat? He doesn’t get it. The other is usually sex. Humans are obsessed with it, and they made him that way as well. Though he’s gotten more than his fair share in his lifetime, it’s pretty whatever now. But, it has been a while. Not to mention this girl is brightening the fuck out of his day – even if it is pure, sheepish amusement.

She`s waiting for him to respond. Smart enough not to push him.

Finally, he decides. What the heck, why not? Not like he doesn’t have the time, or business to attend to that can’t wait until later. Though he has been getting an overflow of traffic lately, and part of him is wondering what’s up. That can be dealt with later though.

He moves toward the salt, impeccably shiny dress shoes coming as close to the grains as is permitted.

“Break the circle,” he demands.

Amber is hesitant then. She feels safe with him in there. The second that barrier is broken, she loses all control.

“Break it,” Hunson says again. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

“What’s the catch though?”

“Catch?”

“Yeah, you know, there’s always a catch.”

“I leave you high and dry and won’t return any more of your little house calls. Sorry, I’m just not that kind of guy. Now break the circle and get on the bed, or I’m leaving. I could be eating dinner right now.”

Amber stands, breathes in deep, while not taking her eyes off Hunson. She slowly inches toward him. Watching, as the dim light of the candles bounces shadows off his porcelain face. They made him to look like them too. Though he’s both a version perfected and distorted at the same time; eerie and hypnotic. Horrifying yet endearing. She looks up along his tall frame, eyes still glued. With a single swipe of her bare foot, the salt is whisked away. It makes no difference physically – each grain sits a distance apart from one another. Whether it be the compacted and contained distance that gave the illusion of the circle, or the slightly more spread out gaps from corner to corner of the room that they hold now. The only thing that matters is that with a single intention, Amber broke the barrier.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It happens just like the last time.

Hunson is sitting in his kitchen, about to devour a massive sandwich that is just stacked to perfection with meat and veggies. There’s no need for him to eat, but he loves to indulge. Said indulgence must be a reflection of the humans, he figures. And boy, do they love their food.

It’s unfortunate that he never takes the first bite. The wall has split again, the glow of a familiar light seeping through the cracks.

He grumbles. He can only recall a small handful of times when he’s been successfully summoned this quickly in succession. Not many people invite him back for a second time. He’s not the most polite party guest. It’s only been, what? Two months? Maybe three?

He doesn’t want to go, but again, intuition is holding steadfast in his gut. Something’s up and he wants to know. He can always leave. Taking one last, longing look at his sandwich, he disappears out of the Night.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“You again.”

“Ugh, thank God you came,” Amber breathes a sigh of relief, then catches herself. “I mean – no, thank _you_ , not Him, I mean… Fuck, you know what I mean.”

Hunson pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, yeah. I know what you meant. Now, what is it? I told you, you only get one booty call. This isn’t gonna be some –“

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

Amber is fidgeting in her place on her bed, eyes darting around.

“Pregnant. I know it’s yours. It has to be. I haven’t been with anyone in ages since you. I broke up with my ex-boyfriend ten months ago. He cheated on me with this girl I know named Jenny, who, is actually a huge slut, and-“

Upon meeting Hunson’s stare, Amber realizes she’s rambling. She ceases.

“Sorry, you don’t care about that.”

“No, I don’t.”

Amber can’t tell, but Hunson’s brain is running a mile a minute. This is hardly the first time he’s ever knocked up a human. Though he cannot just do so on command. His will in the Night and in the material plane works very differently. He is not master here, but has to let things work themselves out naturally. A child would be more than beneficial to him. A child, to humans, is part of the natural order. Though he rules the Night with absoluteness, he did not create it. That means there are rules in place that he must follow. They are the few things that do not bend or break upon his whim. Helping to guide souls out of his realm is one. Ruling for eternity is another, unless, replaced by means of the old human archaic rule of monarchy. Having an heir would mean he could retire. Drift off into peaceful nothingness after years of servitude.

That has been a fantasy Hunson has long let go. Oh yes, he has impregnated human women countless times before, but that makes no difference if they refuse to have the child, or kill the demon babe outright the second it escapes the womb. No one has ever wanted the spawn of Satan as their legacy. What would the neighbours think?

“What did you need me here for? Don’t you people have those fancy clinics now a days for pest control like this?”

It’s clear the last bit of the comment fell on deaf ears as soon as Amber reaches out to gasp his hands.

“I just need you to tell me if there’s going to be any weird shit happening to me, or like, if I need to eat anything different. Cause I watched this movie, and the girl got knocked up by a vampire and totally had to drink nothing but blood while she was preggers. Do I have to do anything like that? It’s not going to chew its way out of my body or anything is it?”

There are very few things that can take Hunson Abadeer by surprise anymore. Once you’ve lived a few thousand years, you’ve mostly seen it all, though in the past little while the humans have gotten quite inventive. Still, this takes the cake. It takes every ounce of self-control for him to not begin dancing on the spot. Be cool.

“Wait, let me get this straight…and just so we’re clear; you’re keeping my demon child?”

Amber looks at him like his head is screwed on backwards.

“Um, _obviously_. I told you, I like, worship you. I talk to you every day in demonic prayer, and hello, I said you own my body and soul, remember? Of _course_ I’m going to have your baby. It will literally be the best thing _ever_.”

Hunson returns to the Night later that day with more pep in his step than he can ever remember possessing. He doesn’t even torture anyone for the next five days he’s so happy.

When Marceline is born six months later, the moment he sees her is the first true instant when he realizes that freedom is actually within his reach. Genuine happiness is not something Hunson is used to feeling, or ever able to find within himself, but when he looks at her, it’s really there. She’s not full demon nor is she full human, but she’ll pass for one for the time being. Barely. She has the same ephemeral quality as Hunson; that look that leaves one unsure if they’re frightened or intoxicated. The human in her mellows it out considerably. Unlike any human though, she’s actually born with teeth, just four. The elongated canines on both the upper and lower jaws. Hunson assumes whatever else grows in will be akin to the flat, square teeth of her mother. The black hair was a given, as it is a shared trait of both he and Amber, same goes for the hauntingly pale skin. Hunson chuckles at her pointed ears. Those are a nice touch that Amber will have a tough time explaining next to her sharp little chompers. The only thing that is a distinct reflection of Amber, save for the alterations of a few facial features, are Marceline’s eyes. They are a brilliant shade of blue. And though Hunson himself has the blood red irises of a demon, he likes Marceline’s just the way they are.

Hunson has decided there’s no way he is about to steal away the tiny thing and raise a baby in his realm. He is far too lazy for that, and it’s no place for a thing that can barely move. He gladly passes that task onto Amber, which is what she wanted in the first place. But, he has to be careful. He needs this kid in tip top shape physically and mentally, as soon as possible, to take over the ol’ business the second _he_ says so. He has to drive the want and need for Marceline to succeed him into her as young as possible, really make it stick. Raising her up nice and evil won’t be an issue. Amber is batshit crazy for a human and is way into it. She’ll be doing whatever Hunson says.

The first few years fly by like a breeze with everything going without a hitch. Amber is sometimes a pain in the ass to deal with and arguments have definitely arose. Like letting Marceline share toys with the neighbour kid. Share? In the Night? Absolutely not. She’s also way too affectionate for his liking. He’s not sure if it’s because he needs her to be tough as nails, or he’s just uncomfortable with himself for readily returning the hugs she bombards him with whenever he’s summoned on weekends.

Regardless, everything goes to shit one day when Marceline is four. Hunson had more than enough bad feelings when souls started pouring in by the buttload, but he’ll never forget the day when whatever happened on the surface of the material plane caused the sudden overflow. The energy of it all was overwhelming. Suddenly the Night was stuffy and crammed. Loud, fierce, congested. Millions upon millions of souls and demons filling up his digs. With everyone down here, it left him wondering, sick to his stomach, who was even left.

Hunson closes his eyes, shifts back and into himself, and changes forms. He sets to floating high above his realm. With eyes still shut, his entire essence stretches out, covering all of the Night. And that’s when he senses her. Her energy is like the other billions of mindless blobs billowing about, but there’s no mistaking that it is indeed Amber. She is dead, and she’s dragged any hope Hunson has ever known into the depths with her. Marceline could be left stuck with whoever claims custody of orphaned children, but Hunson suspects that whatever happened on Earth didn’t leave much behind, judging by what just came knocking at his front door. Being a demon, he knows Marceline can stand a lot more than the humans ever could. And she is not down here. He normally doesn’t get children here. But the demon in her would tie her to this realm. She is likely wandering up there alone, with no one to summon Hunson to come retrieve her. If she dies, the human in her would be locked into the same cycle as the rest of them. His dreams of freedom shrivel up and wilt on the spot.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Finn is propped in his hospital bed. It’s a little awkward, but Marceline notices the droop in his pouty mouth. If anything, Finn has always been pretty rad at being empathetic; its part of what drives his need to be a hero. Also kinda why she’s taking a liking to him. She brings it upon herself to break the silence.

“I mean, that’s how Dad kinda told it anyway. He’s probably exaggerating some o’ that jazz. I have no idea.”

There’s more confusion speckling his features than anything; attempting to connect the dots.

“Marceline.  I..."  He's about to say something but he's not sure what the words are supposed to be.   She probably doesn't want to hear it.  Whatever it is quickly replaced by a thought slamming into Finn's brain and out his mouth before he can register he's even speaking. 

"But, wait, how did you figure out how to summon him without your mom? You taught me how to open the portal to the Nightosphere, how’d you figure that out?”

That wasn’t one of Marceline's best days either.

“I had this photo of my mom and me,” she says, casually. She’s hoping Finn doesn’t hear the tremors. This is easier to spill than she ever thought it would be, but after so long, a first is still a first.

“I think there was a build up before the peak of the mushroom wars and she gave it to me for that reason; told me to keep it with me always. The incantation was on the back. She didn’t really explain what it was. It wasn’t until I was about fifteen when I ever really had the means to execute it properly. I had tried before, wondering what it was, but was, uh, lacking a few things. Namely, the milk.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s been a long time since Marceline has really tried to make anything from the old days work. It’s been roughly eleven years since she’s had french fries, and today, she’s feeling particularly headstrong. Life has left her with jack, and she doesn’t know what’s fuelled this particular need, but right now, she’s not having any of it. Marceline wants this, and she’s going for it. It’s stupid and it’s pointless, but she doesn’t care. She needs this and doesn’t care why. The fryer is a machine, and really, aside from some dust, it’s been fairly well preserved. Not much rust; the casing of dirty grease has seen to that. There’s still oil inside. Probably rancid.  She doesn’t care.  A wooden storage shelf meets its demise at the hand of an emergency fire axe in the back by the dumpster. Marceline pours a bit of the oil over the wood and sets a frying rack from inside across two cinderblocks above the small pit. Her current lighter still has enough fluid left to light a few crumpled napkins shoved into the nooks of the wood.

The fire takes instantly. Marceline takes the large pot she transferred the oil to and places it on the rack to heat up. She waits impatiently until liquid starts to bubble before dropping the fries in.

The restaurant has been preserved fantastically. She has no clue what sort of crap was put in those french fries to keep them relatively edible this long, but she assumes its some seriously nasty bizz. She doesn’t care though. One serving won’t hurt, and it’s likely to taste damn good.

When the fries are done, she sets them on one of the dust ridden tables in the dining area. Something’s missing though. She needs a drink. After checking the soda fridge, she comes to the conclusion that a bunch of smart folks had pilfered all that was worth jacking – which means all the soda was gone. The cartons of rotten, spoiled milk catch her eye though. She doesn’t want to drink them, that’s for sure, but there is the one thing she keeps with her that sits in the back of her head that makes her think that maybe, just maybe, there might be some use to that mouldy, chunky beverage.

She removes the old photo from her pocket and flips it over. She’s tried this dozens of times on her own, after Simon left, when it really kicked in what these words might mean.

There’s a chalkboard across the counter that’s still advertising “Today’s Special”. She wipes it clean and replicates the drawing on the back of her photo. It’s weird, so weird; the urge she has. Feels though, like she’s seen it before. The milk is tossed carelessly on the chalkboard. Not pressed and rubbed. She needs the drawing preserved. Doesn’t know why, but that’s what she needs. She’s never had the milk. The last thing, is scrawled upon the back of the photo. Marceline has always wondered if she’s saying it wrong. She tries anyway.

“Maloso vobiscum et cum spiritum.”

Nothing happens. She doubted it would. After all these times, why would it? Stupid.

She leaves her fries on the table and heads next door to the convenience store to find something to drink.

While she’s there, something keeps nagging in her brain.

_What if something happened while you were gone? What if you didn’t wait long enough?_

Something feels different this time. Something in her wants to fight that doubt. And then it clicks.

_Something happened._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Hunson is way confused when a portal appears. Last he checked most of the remaining human spirits were all up in _his_ domain. So, naturally, he’s more than curious. When he finally enters the material plane, he’s more than surprised to meet absolutely nothing.

Who the hell brought him here?

All curiosity flies out the window when he gets a whiff of what’s sitting in front of him though. Someone had been here. And not too long ago.

The fries are somewhat chilled but, damn, it doesn’t matter. They’re still worth it. He figures whoever made them probably got devoured by something or was long gone. Which is why when, upon stuffing his face, he’s frozen stiff at the small, faint voice echoing from the doorway.

“Daddy?”

Its strange how after all these years, she remembers him. The flood of feelings and familiarity upon seeing him again resurfaces. But, along with that familiarity, is the hard betrayal. He was gone. He disappeared just like her mother, only he hadn’t died. He just…left. Left like he always did. He would come after so long and hang around for a few days. Was it two? Maybe three? She could barely remember. But he would leave. He would always leave. Regardless if Mom was feeling down, or if they needed help. He was always good for one thing; leaving. He’d come back, but it had nothing to do with their need. It was strictly schedule. It felt like betrayal. And now - now that Marceline finally found him, he was doing it again; betraying her. Those fries – they were hers. She worked so hard for those. And here he was – devouring them like a beast. With no regard to her what so ever. There was no savouring, no care taken upon the act, just obliteration.

He looks at her, mouth full.

She can’t do anything but run.

Marceline doesn’t know how long Hunson looks for her, she suspects it’s for a little while – there’s a strange sense of his presence for a time, but all she does is hide. After all this time, she had thought she wanted to find him. She knows now, that’s not the case. She’s curled up in an old, abandoned building – deep in the basement. Wrapping her frail arms about her legs and shivering. She’s never missed Simon so much as she does now. But even he left her. Everyone left. Is she that repulsive? Facing her father feels terrifying. He feels like a stranger – like he will do nothing to her but devour her whole, just like those fries.

Hunson gives up, eventually. Its clear Marceline does not want to be found. Forcing her into the Night will do nothing for him, and after the humans killed themselves off, there’s too much to do down there. Work needs to be done. Chaos needs just a little bit of order. He can’t afford to be away for so long. His want to find her is strong; she’s the only heir he has. But, she’ll have to die someday, and when that happens, Hunson will be waiting with open arms. He can stand a few more decades, if Marceline even makes it that long.


	5. Chapter 5

When Marceline returns to the Candy Kingdom from her rendezvous with the vampires earlier that evening, she’s so livid she feels like tearing someone’s head off. She almost did. Even kinda regretting not doing it.

Dealing with anyone right now is out of the question. Prowling the corridors, mumbling under her breath, Marceline slips away inside of herself and becomes invisible – grumbling notwithstanding.

Her first stop is the kitchen. She’s mad hungry and in her current state of being, it would be best to feed. Bonnie would have her head if she lost her temper and ended up devouring the red from some poor sap’s frosting, or gumdrops, or whatever the flop these delicious chumps were made of.

There are two kitchens within the castle; one for the workers who lived there and one for Bubblegum. Though Marceline has seen Peppermint pilfer through a few of her goodies on more than one occasion since she’s been shacked up here. She assumes it’s a regular occurrence that Bubblegum is aware of. There’s not much that goes on in that castle that the Princess herself isn’t privy to. The same goes for all of Ooo, for that matter. Marceline has stumbled across all manner of strange, fully functioning devices on her travels that look far too well-placed for her liking. She’s totally inspected them. Some are for measuring certain things like weather and atmospheric conditions. Some of them she was left scratching her head at -oblivious to whatever sort of function they held, but most of them were recording devices. Marceline knows that no one but Bonnibel would have the resources, desire, and know how to put together such contraptions.

Once and a while, if she’s floating along on a lazy ramble, bass in tow, and she spots one, Marceline will take up camp for an hour or so and strum out a little ditty or two. Sometimes ones she already knows, or ones she makes up on the spot; singing away into the night to the moon and the recorder, wondering if when Bubblegum goes through her tapes if she sits and listens or just speeds right through them.

Upon the invasion, Marceline had asked Bonnibel how the humans managed to slip past her radar. As paranoid as she thought all those cameras were, they sure would have been handy. Bubblegum had explained something hastily; seething through her teeth as she mentioned something about Flame Princess and a huge guilt trip a few years back. Marceline had crossed her arms at the notion, a jolt of anger spiking in her stomach. In all their years they’d known each other, and since Marceline had returned, not once did Bonnie ever show any guilt or remorse toward _her_. That fire was quickly extinguished as Marceline lassoed up her reactionary emotions and tossed them in her metaphorical trash bin. Not gonna do that anymore. Nope. Not if she could help it. That’s what leaving in the first place had been for. But, maybe she’d recycle them later as shitty lyrics that would never make it to her recording equipment.

Either way, the humans had one up’d them, and now the vampires didn’t want to cooperate. The nerve of them. Didn’t they know who was supposed to be Queen? She’d eventually given up and decided leaving them to their own devices was best for now, but Marceline was still uber pissed.

Ripping open the refrigerator door a little too roughly, she scours the contents of Bubblegum’s personal stash until she spots what she’s looking for. Cherry cream soda. Marceline’s favourite. The red of the cherry mixed with the pink of the drink, plus the carbonation – glob, words couldn’t _even_.

She’s seen Bubblegum put someone in the dungeon for jacking her soda.

Marceline takes two.

The first one is drained as she ascends the spiral staircase leading to Bubblegum’s personal quarters. It’s still relatively early and Marceline suspects she’s still downstairs somewhere, hard at work. A relaxing shower is the only thing that warrants her attention right now to ease her about this evening’s awful correspondence with her _own_ subjects, but she’ll go down later to see if there’s anything she can do to help.

So preoccupied with her unnerving thoughts and not bothering to question her own assumptions on Bubblegum’s whereabouts, she doesn’t think twice about opening the door without knocking.

Marceline floats a good two feet into the room before she registers the Princess sitting at her desk.

“Bonnie!”

Bubblegum’s head shoots up. In being absolutely absorbed by what she was doing, she hadn’t even noticed Marceline open the door. She’s wide eyed with pointed ears pricked up, floating stance a little out of balance.

“Oh, Marceline, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in…” Marceline fumbles, feeling the cold weight of the other drink in her hand. “I…brought you a soda?”

Bubblegum eyes her knowingly, but smiles regardless. “Thank you,” she says, sweetly, accepting the cold beverage Marceline hands to her as she glides over.

“And how did yours taste?”

Marceline sighs, crumpling the other empty can that’s behind her back and tossing it in the small bin under the desk.

“Outrageously algebraic. You’re not gonna toss me in your dungeon are you?”

“Since you used a system of mathematics as a point of comparison to my favourite beverage, no, not today.”

“Cool.”

Marceline fidgets for a moment under Bubblegum’s bespectacled stare.

“I uh, came up for a shower, thought you’d be in the hall. I can come back later.”

“No,” she answers almost before Marceline can finish her sentence. “No. I was assigning offensive and defensive preparations today. Just in case anything happens. I don’t want to be caught off guard or unprepared if negotiations fall flat. I’ll be leaving tomorrow to make contact with some of the other kingdoms. How did your meeting with the other vampires go?”

This question was meant to be innocent. It was mean to be uplifting; because anyone under Marceline’s reign would be ally. It would be as she willed it. And vampires were of more benefit than a large portion of any other kingdom’s armed forces. This portion was supposed to be a walk in the park.

Its clear Marceline is hesitant to answer. Her vision bounces around the room sporadically, hand shuffling in her long mane of hair. Finally though, she settles on Bubblegum. An honest answer is owed. Though Marceline feels she tried her best, while simultaneously succeeding in keeping what little of a kingdom she has glued together, she can’t help but feel like she’s failed Bonnibel in the worst of ways.

“Awful,” she finally breathes; a gesture unwarranted, but still habitual even in her undead state. Bonnie’s reaction is the last thing Marceline wants to take in, but she knows it’s inevitable. She glances up.

And there it is.

Its sadness, and confusion and hopelessness.

It’s, _‘What do you mean things went wrong?’_

It’s _, ‘You’re the Vampire Queen. What happened?’_

In Marceline’s eyes, it’s nothing but sheer disappointment.

Finally, Bonnibel asks, “What… what went wrong?”

Marceline clamps her eyes shut. Grod, she’s so stupid. She can’t look at her. Why didn’t she just tell them what was what? Why didn’t she just tell them, this is what we’re doing, get over it. This is _not_ a democracy. She’s a coward.

She sighs. Marceline will tell her everything. This is technically where she stands on her decision now, but honestly, depending on how Bonnibel reacts, she might very well change her mind. She’ll go from savior to dictator in seconds if Bonnie wills it. She can’t bring it in herself to hate Bubblegum for having that power over her.

“I left just after sundown,” she begins.

There’s a small posse of vamps huddled around a campfire roasting pink marshmallows till they’re nothing but gunk, and then scraping the dripping bits off their sticks with strawberries afterwards. Marceline rarely ever makes an appearance around these parts, but it only takes a moment before they register her presence.

“Whoa, I thought I smelled Queen Bee,” a stout, young looking vamp comments once she reveals herself from out of the woods.

Marceline knows his name, it’s Benjamin. He’s decked in a pair of worn jeans. His black sweater is punctured with holes; particularly in the lower sleeve region where his thumbs poke through make shift sectionals. He’s got shaggy blonde hair and a beard to match. His outward appearance leaks of youth and joy, but she knows better. This hipster is older than her, she knows fair well. He was there at the time of her coronation, so to speak.

Technically, everyone here is either older than Marceline or a fraction younger. Though she has power, inherited from the last king, it isn’t just that which keeps her in her current position; its respect.

There have been no vampires made under her rule. Who do you turn after all the humans have been either eaten or left for dead? Plus she couldn’t afford any newborns running amuck and draining peeps that ought not to be drained.

She showed them the way of red, and left them alone. That was that.

“S’up?” she greets, casually taking up a vacant space upon one of the log benches around the fire.

There’s a few grateful waves hello, polite greetings and whatnot before Marceline fully settles into the drawl environment.

Benjamin points a cooling marshmallow in her direction, which Marceline promptly peels off the stick.

“Oh, there’s a few interesting things that happened last night.”

Interesting? She doesn’t like the sound of that. Her silence is a signal for him to continue.

“The humans were here. Just two. Looking for you.”

_What?_ That didn’t make much sense. She had attended negotiations with Bubblegum – leading her to believe the humans were aware of where her intentions and loyalties lied. Apparently, that was not enough.

Hovering in the air with her trademark, devil may care posture, Marceline snuggles around it comfortingly while she interrogates Benjamin. She does not like this one bit.

“Oh yeah? What’d they want?” she asks, too casually.

He blows on a heated stick of mallow before passing it to his left. Marceline glances about the fire pit. She doesn’t notice Randalph at all, but that’s to be expected. He enjoys his own company. Benjamin speaks once more.

“No surprise that they killed two shadows in the daylight,” he says.

Shadows are beasts of the night; nocturnal as the vampires are but not nearly as cunning nor as sentient as the humans. Like dogs, sniffling and shuffling about until they consume their feed. Nothing inherently bad or good, just they worked upon the night.

The humans had a few charred them, apparently. _‘Look what we can do. And we can do it to you, too.’_

Marceline grumbles, “And, so what?”

“They came here, knowing where we rested, though obviously we’re thinking of switching up cribs now - they left us an ultimatum; for the war that might seriously be happening.”

She’s shaking.

“Which is?”

To Marceline’s surprise, Benjamin actually smiles. “Oh don’t worry, it’s all good, Marce. They just want us to keep out of it – say they got no business with vamps. And, honestly, we all believe em’. We got no land they need. They’d just asked us to stay out of any feudal turf wars that don’t involve our sick little hook up here.”

There’s a murmur of agreement amongst the circle that has Marceline nauseous.

“They _even_ said there were a few humans who are into to donating blood –“

“No.”

Benjamin and the others are more than confused. It is not often that Marceline pulls rank, but when she does, it feels more than serious. There have been times in past centuries when it is outrageous and emotional; they can calm her down, but not today.

“The Candy Kingdom sits at a stalemate with the humans. If the candy people don’t surrender, they’ll be taken over,” she states.

Benjamin leans forward, “Sorry…what exactly does that have to do with us? And also, blood; free blood.”

Another vamp raises his hand from across the fire pit.

“Uh, last time we checked; we weren’t aligned with anyone. I’m not gonna go get my hands dirty if I don’t need to.”

Before Marceline can get another word in, Benjamin stares at her incredulously.

“Wait, you want us to put our lives at risk for a group of mindless, bumbling candy half-wits that have done – and likely will do, nothing for us?”

Think, think, think.

Marceline tries as she’s put on the spot to rationalize this request – this demand. But the way they’re wording it to her now; she’d never thought of it that light. All she wanted to do was use any resources she had to help Bonnie. She’d forgotten than her resources were their own bodies; bodies and minds that had nothing to do with her qualms. Not to mention, despite all the rumors, fables and books written on vampires, when they realized they didn’t actually need blood to survive, it turned out they were pretty chill. Lazy, even. Who wouldn’t be? Knowing you could live forever drinking colour as long as you didn’t provoke anyone enough to get stabbed through the heart or hit direct sunlight. Though they were much stronger than many of the citizens inhabiting Ooo, with no real need to be predatory anymore, there wasn’t much reason for anyone to want to attempt to do away with them. The vampires were relatively peaceful. Marceline has made sure they stayed that way.

She could force them, yes? Really put her authority out there so it left them with no question as to who was in charge. With the power she gained from killing the last King plus her demonic abilities on top of that, Marceline has no doubt she could lay waste to each and every one of them even if they decided to gang up on her. Not to mention all the human blood she got junked up on last week that was still pumping crazy in her veins. But…she doesn’t _want_ to do that.

Marceline may not spend much time with these people, or dictate what they do aside from a few simple rules she laid down centuries ago, but she _knows_ them. They’re kind of her friends. And on top of all that, despite how much she wants to slap them all and demand they do as she says to help the Candy Kingdom, because that’s what _she_ wants; she can’t help but feel that they’re _right_.

Benjamin can see her scowling behind the light of the fire; trying to come up with something to say.

“Look, Marceline, most of us know you’re real…close…with the candy chick.”

She fights off an agitated grumble, and a punch to his face. He continues.

“But, we’re not. And last we all checked, we are technically a kingdom. Not a traditional one, but we are. And this feud has _nothing_ to do with us. It has to do with _you_.”

Marceline ejects herself from the log, ghosts over the fire in preparation to leave. Benjamin means to say something, but she gets there first.

“ _No one_ is to take any blood from those humans.”

“But they said –“

“Willing or otherwise,” she turns back with a sharp glare, scowl still plastered upon her face.

“You want to stay out of this? Fine, we stay out of this. The second you accept from them, that means we are in this. If I sense that any one of you has had even a drop, trust me you’re in for some seriously nasty bizz.”

Marceline disappears into the woods, leaving most of them gaping in surprise and the rest to continue as they were with their sweet, pink marshmallows.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bubblegum’s head is turned away, hands fiddling with the frills of her dress. Distracting her, the balled up energy inside that she doesn’t know what to do with seeping down and through her fingers in rhythmic motions along the coarse folds. It’s not enough, but its unconscious and it will do.

“I’m sorry,” Marceline chokes out.

The ache in her voice jolts Bonnibel from the inside of her own head. She’s weighing, calculating, searching for other options, and above all she feels somewhat hurt – however invalid the logic in that feeling may be, but the vampire pulls her back into reality.

Marceline’s face is utterly distressed.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I – I can go back.   I can tell them-“

“No.”

Bonnibel lets out a shaky breath.

“Marceline, you did the right thing.”

She’s not floating. She can’t bring herself to, not when she feels like this; anything but light. She’s heavy, weighted down.

“But, Bonnie…I’m in charge, I can make them –“

“Don’t. They’re right,” Bubblegum states again, more firmly. She’s agitated, Marceline can tell by the tone of her voice. Whether it’s with her, or the situation, or both, she can’t quite tell but it’s leaving her in an uncomfortable state as well.

Marceline frowns, drops her head. It’s heavy too. She’s can’t bring herself to lift it.

Bonnibel sighs deeply and steels herself. “I would not condone a leader of a kingdom making decisions on behalf of its people for their own personal matters while disregarding their citizens and their safety. They’re not involved.”

Her head feels lighter. Marceline lifts it to meet Bubblegum’s iron façade, and she continues.

“I also realize you are the sole representative of the vampires, and within that position, your actions against any human forces will be seen as an act derived from your entire Kingdom. And…thus… I do not expect you to put yourself forward to attend to my aid any further.”

This, Marceline cannot fathom. It’s so ridiculous she almost laughs but Bubblegum’s face is deadly serious.

“Bonnie, no. Now you’re just – I mean, have you gone bonkers? As if I’d just let you deal with this crap on your own, are you serious right now?”

Marceline is almost mad she even insinuated the notion.

Bonnibel turns her nose up and flicks her head to the side again to avoid eye contact.

That doesn’t work with Marceline. She cringes at the dismissal and lifts off the ground to breach the border of Bubblegum’s desk. Propping her hands on the princess’s shoulders, she drops back down to the ground, forcing her to look at her.

“Hey, this is insulting you know! How long have we known each other Bonnie? Huh?”

She still won’t look at her.

“If you honestly think I’m going to just peace out on all of this –“

Bonnibel almost blurts out that it wouldn’t be the first time she’s left.

“That I’m going to just leave you to those…those beasts, then, you’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met”

That does it.

Bubblegum pins Marceline in place with her fiery gaze.

“Do not insult my intelligence, Marceline.”

“Then don’t say stupid shit!”

Her hands slump from the princess’s shoulders. “…I’m not leaving…can’t do that. Someone else can be Queen, I don’t care.” It sounds stubborn and childish, but upon this admission, Marceline realizes the potential weight of everything she’s been saying to her. This is serious. It’s all too serious. Things haven’t been this decent between them for a long while since before she left the last time. She wants to help but she also doesn’t want to ruin this.

“Homies help homies, Bon. Always,” she mumbles. Its commitment, but it’s casual, and it’s something that Bonnibel feels comfortable with.

It’s been years since they’ve hugged, and it takes Marceline by surprise when Bubblegum comes out of her chair to wrap her arms around her. Surprising for sure, but the familiarity of it sinks into Marceline’s bones as she gives right back. She’s always been cold and dead for longer than she cares to remember, but the warmth she has engulfing her now will make her royal shower that’s calling her name, and all the next ones after that, pale in comparison. She forgot how much she’s missed this. She forgot how much life actually pulses within her. Now she remembers.


	6. Chapter 6

The night she died hadn’t been particularly special in any way.   It was not stormy or scary, foreboding or eerie. Marceline had lived in the woods and across deserted cities for years now. Night was always dark no matter where one went in those early years after the war. After a time, she had gotten used to it. She did not have a sixth sense informing her that there was unrest amongst the trees. No predicators hinting toward her incoming doom, save for the half a minute before it all happened.

A strange feeling like she was being watched. Then a small rustle. That was it.

Maybe if she hadn’t been talking to Hambo she would have noticed something. The demon in her was good for a thing or two. But, she had been distracted and preoccupied – something she desperately needed to get by day in and day out. If, and when food was procured, and after a make shift camp was set up, Marceline didn`t do well when left to her own thoughts. So she spoke to the only thing she had left. The last bit of Simon she clung to.

The worst part, actually – the most surreal and frightening aspect of the experience, was how normal it had all felt just moments before. Before she felt the cracking of her bones being crushed ferociously against a hard body. The jaw vice-clamped to her neck, throat being torn into. Nothing but choked gargles ejecting from her mouth accompanied by an overflow of thick blood.

Funny, there had been a bit of pain at first; lightning fast and iron hot. Then it was numb, like a paralysis. She couldn`t move or do anything. And then Marceline felt like she was floating. That part felt kinda nice. She felt like she was ready to just let it all go. She didn`t see much of a point anyway. All these years spent scrounging in the wasteland. Her mother and Simon taken from her, along with any other human company. Fighting for scraps of food and decent shelter. Wondering if she would ever meet anyone again; anyone like her. Anyone to survive with, talk to - even just to see them and know someone else was still out there. Anyone. Now she didn`t have to worry about that anymore. For a few brief moments, Marceline touched bliss.

But demons don`t get to float away.

The beast who had her limp body cradled in his cold arms pulled away. He coughed and choked on the blood. Prowling the woods, near starving, he had been certain he smelled human. Tasted like it too. He couldn`t believe it – they had almost fully extinguished themselves from history. He should have known it was too good to be true. The aftertaste; it was strange and foreign. Something he knew he shouldn`t be drinking. Suddenly it had gone sour and rotten.

The body in his arms hits death. He knows her heart stops beating when the ground below him rips a gaping hole through the forest`s grassy floor.

He runs away. Leaving Marceline to be snatched and swallowed; taken deep below the crevices of the earth and pulled past it`s center. Deep into a place where her entire being is splayed and scattered. There`s a rush of relief when she sees the dark light of the void, but before she can taste it, she`s grasped and gathered. Yanked violently away and thrust into a different sort of darkness. The promising emptiness of the void is quickly and viciously replaced with a thundering heaviness, and in a single pointed instant, she enters the Night. Every single broken bit of her.

Marceline is nineteen the day she dies. And she`ll be nineteen until the day she lets the sun beat down hard enough to pierce its light through a thousand years of darkness.

That`ll be a rough one. Good thing she won`t wake up with a hangover.

A thousand years and she still can`t bring herself to do it.

Disorientation is the most prominent feeling when she wakes. That, and a warm, dry, heat permeating the air. Her body feels light, existential. Almost feels like she’s floating, until she hears the voice.

“Welcome home.”

Marceline is sucked back down into herself, breath catching its first gasp. Her head cranks off to the side toward the sound of the voice.

Hunson is propped in a chair situated in the corner of the room.

After not seeing her father properly for fourteen years, Marceline is still somewhat surprised she can recognize him from the brief instance in the restaurant a few years back.

Then again… as she studies him, it’s difficult to assume otherwise. They’re identical.

Though it’s been years since Marceline has kept her hair properly clean and intact. And rarely does she go a day without getting her face coated in dirt for one reason or another. She hasn’t seen a clear mirror since she was with Simon. Hunson is the opposite; all shiny and clean – clothes spotless and immaculate.  Though, Marceline knows – can feel in her bones, that they are one and the same. The thought permeates through her entire being, uncomfortable waves of nausea billowing from each end of her stomach.

“I’ll let you rest,” Hunson states, standing from his chair to smooth his suit jacket. He registers her unease. He sees folks die all the time. He doesn’t care. They always freak out something fierce. This is his heir though. As much as he does not give a lick of shit about what she’s going through, Hunson has to do his best to make her comfortable. He remembers full well how their sudden meeting went a few years ago. His insides squirm at the memory. She was doing that human thing where they apply exponentially strong emotions to the meaning of simple acts. Bleh. It was just a few god damn fries. How that species lived for millennia and dealt with shit like that was way out of his forte.   At least he learned a few things. Bombarding Marceline was the last thing Hunson was about to do. She needed space.

It’s a full two days before she comes stumbling out of her room. Eyes blazing, teeth gnashing. Her mouth agape in a silent struggle and plea.

_‘Help me,’_

Hunson had seen the marks on her neck when she materialized. He knew what got her. He didn’t think it would be a problem, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t know all the rules. She might have just been dead and a demon. Easy, so easy. She also might have been dead and a demon _and_ a vampire, but dead none the less. Also doable. Or, Marceline could very well be a half demon and half vampire…and in some sort of suspended state of living. That wouldn’t work for Hunson. Best to deter her from ever imagining such a thing. Either way, alive or dead, the vampire thing was clearly part of this bizz. He prepped for it. Snapping his fingers, a posse of lesser demons come rushing into the room.

They’re carrying a small, squealing thing. It is a demon, like everything else in the Night, but it is tiny, crying, and tied up. Like a baby taken from its mother. The word cute, like any other, is subjective. But Hunson knows what it means to humans. He’s seen what creatures they take in and what they push away in disgrace. This…thing, they’ve brought for Marceline sits comfortably in the middle; something akin to what he once heard humans label a ‘pug’.

Hunson watches Marceline’s reaction carefully as it’s brought into the room. She’s starving, he knows, but the panic and disgust that reactively explode onto her face is something he doesn’t need to see right now. That is aversion. That is rebellion, and it needs to be doused.

She looks to him, panting in a silent plea. Instead, he merely grins; jaw full of sharp teeth clacking against one another.

“Breakfast?”

Marceline’s stomach clenches in retaliation, but it is of no defence against what stirs within her. There is no time lapse from when she sat huddled in the corner to when she finds herself across the room, tearing open the bits of corporeal flesh struggling amongst her grasp.

The demons who had brought it scattered in fear.

When she’s finished drinking, there’s a sweet, satisfied fullness to her being. It’s all nice and tingly feels. The hazy, light, feeling is back and Marceline sways, intoxicated.

But then she looks down at the corpse in her bare hands; dripping and mutilated. It’s face permanently frozen in a state of horror and surprise. Shaking, she realizes that she is the one who has torn it open and devoured the poor thing in its entirety.

It drops to the ground with a heavy, ‘splat’.

Her hands are dripping with blood, her mouth tastes of iron.

Marceline runs back to her room.

The ritual continues for days; Marceline locking herself in her room until she’s writhing on the floor, teeth elongated, skin dehydrated and stretching. There’s always something waiting in the kitchen – like Hunson has ordered live take-out the exact instant he hears her bedroom door nearly fly off the hinges. She eats once every day and a half, never leaving otherwise. Once she finishes her meal, she flees the kitchen as fast as she can. There’s no need to use any sort of bathroom facilities anymore, not like the Nightosphere had any. Any blood she ingested was used to its fullest – no waste.

Its ten days in when Marceline feels herself going truly bonkers. Pacing back and forth the room, sitting in the corners, on the bed. Her only friend and sense of rationality was her own head, and even that was starting to slip. Even Hambo, who she’d managed to hang onto as she was sucked into the Night, was starting to make for batshit company.

When the hunger pangs strike again, Marceline drags herself out of her room and down to the kitchen. As always, there’s something waiting for her.   This one is a small, red demon scampering around on all four legs that look too stubby to do any good. It’s whining, jumping from wall to wall trying to find a way out of the room. After the first three times, they stopped tying them up for her.

Sighing and shaking, Marceline grabs the largest knife she can. The thing isn’t moving very fast and she almost wishes it wouldn’t have hesitated when it looked at her – as if trying to discern if she were friendly or not. Would have made it easier to deal with if it had started running.

But, no, and as soon as Marceline grabs it, she pins it down. That’s when it starts flailing and shrieking. Pulling its head back, she shears the knife across its throat. It takes a few choked breaths before settling. Marceline wastes no time in lapping up all the fresh blood from the too big slice she made, but, she doesn’t like using her teeth; the feeling of flesh giving way, having it squirm in her mouth. She can’t.

There`s still blood all over the floor when Hunson strolls in to make himself dinner. He`s whistling a carefree tune that pierces the silence of the kitchen, but dies on his lips when he takes notice of Marceline sitting in the corner against the cupboards, blood soaking through her jeans.

She`s got her elbows crossed and propped on her knees, head resting upon them, eyes drowning in the kitchen floor. Hunson doesn`t say anything. His whistling is struck back up and he decides as he`s pulling it out of the fridge, that lasagna looks good tonight.

Busying himself, and without hurry, Hunson slices himself a generous portion of pasta and transfers it to a plate. After grabbing a few utensils, he yanks a chair out from the table and plops down. Marceline hasn`t glanced at him.

His fork squishes down into the soft, pliant mesh of noodles and filling after the first few bites. The food is toyed with and maneuvered around the plate.

“Kinda looks like the mess you made,” his low rumble of a voice penetrates the silence with obvious amusement.

He’s watching carefully. Marceline’s lips tighten a fraction. Her eyebrows crease. She hides the tension and disperses it as quickly as it surfaced.

She doesn’t say anything so Hunson takes another bite.

And then a few more, before she finally speaks. The first thing she’s really spoken since arriving.

“…Am I dead?”

The fork is placed next to the half-eaten meal and Hunson adjusts himself in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

Marceline is looking to him now. There’s resignation in the depths of her eyes but her eyebrows have turned up in the middle, hopeful, and her lips hover open in a deep pout.

“Yes,” he states. The affirmation is not gentle. There’s no empathy or compassion in it.

Her mouth closes immediately. The tension pulled right back. She sighs, rubbing her eye with the back of a hand. Her gaze has become preoccupied with the floor once again.

“…Why am I like this then? Why do I –“ Words catch in her throat, choking. Don’t cry. “Why do I need to…to do, _this_?” It comes out as a whisper, like saying it quieter will somehow lessen the blow to her conscience about what she’s doing.

“You were born part demon,” Hunson informs her. “It was always going to be different circumstances for you when you lost the human half of you in death. Didn’t think this would ever show up in the list of probable scenarios, I’ll admit. Pretty cool though, no?”

If she wasn’t so shell-shocked, there probably would have been room for more anger toward her father’s callousness.

“Demon? I’m a demon? I don’t understand what’s happening…” Marceline trails off on the last bit, grasping her hands to the side of her head. She’s shaking now, hunched, defeated.

Hunson doesn’t know how to say it any better. She had been too young when her mother died to really grasp any sort of abstract concept of what exactly she was. Both Hunson and Amber had decided that it made little sense to give her a word to label herself with. It wouldn’t make sense until she was old enough for Hunson to take her into the Nightosphere anyway. And it served to help her in fitting in with the other kids in the neighbourhood. Also, Amber didn’t want her running her tiny mouth out to strangers, proclaiming her demonic origins to any ol’ person in passing because she didn’t know any better was not something either of them wanted to deal with.

“Yeah, you know, a demon. After people die, if they haven’t dealt with their shit or have been assholes, they come here and get turned into them.”

Marceline’s head snaps up.

“…Bad? They’re bad? It’s like… a punishment?”

Hunson shrugs. “Guess so. The vampire that bit you is a form of demon. They usually feed on human blood. But that’s, ah, whatever, doesn’t matter now, eh?”

Her sharp teeth are prodding into her lower lip, gnawing until she tastes blood. Can’t bring herself to stop though. “And, I was born that way…”

The last part isn’t a question, only a quiet whispered affirmation that leaves her sinking into herself with only one thought;

‘ _Was I that bad?’_

Hunson inhales and stands from his chair, taking his plate to the sink. “Weeeell, anywho, you’re here now and I own the joint, so you can do whatever,”

_‘What have I done to be born like this?’_

“Though as my daughter, you will have some responsibilities to uphold, but we can chit chat about all that later.”

_‘That means…I deserve this, then?’_

“I’ll catch you later, kiddo, I’ve got business to attend to,” he dismisses with a backward wave, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to her.

“Wait!”

Hunson pauses just before the door to glance back.

Marceline has finally stood up from the thick pool of blood she had been marinating in. She’s searching for the right words. Her fists clench and unclench rhythmically at her sides.

“I’m…I’m not, _like this_.”

“Like what?” Hunson drawls.

Her head shakes furiously, bloody palms opening to gesture.

“Like _this_! This isn’t me - I’m not…I’m not…”

_‘Not what?’_

Hunson takes the time to turn fully to face her. “This is you. Who you are doesn’t matter. This is _what_ you are.” His tone resonates not of demanding obedience, but of truth and finality. He will have no arguing from her about simple facts.

“You are also dead. The Night is your home now. Most people end up here, regardless, Marceline. You should feel lucky, and privileged that you are what you are. This is the place that all humans fear. There is pain and torture and suffering. But you are my daughter. You don’t need to fear this place.   It can’t hurt you if you embrace it. And you will, eventually.”

Hunson waits a moment, being polite and waiting to see if she responds. She doesn’t right away, so he turns heel and strolls out through the swinging door, the sharp echo of his whistle following him until he disappears.

Though she has just eaten, Marceline can barely bring herself to move. She looks about the room. Everywhere she looks has blood speckled somewhere. Her eyes aren’t safe anywhere. Someone has always cleaned the mess. She never wondered or ever cared who. She’d always just run back to the safety of her room.

Marching over to the forgotten carcass, Marceline picks it up and doesn’t think twice about tossing it out the window. She grabs all the cloth and towels she can and sets about furiously wiping all the blood away. There’s so much of it. Everywhere. Soaked through her jeans and even in her ears.

_‘Clean, clean, clean. Don’t think. Just clean. Make everything be clean.’_

The kitchen is spotless when she returns to her room to collapse upon her bed, but that doesn’t stop the thoughts in her brain from whirling nor the black feeling in her gut from spiraling senselessly out of control until it begins to spread to her every fiber. It wants to consume her but Marceline’s head is giving her mixed signals; one part is frozen with fear, screaming _‘no, no, no,_ ’ and the other half is telling her to dive in and let go. She’s panicking, but in a flash of insight, she has the brilliant idea to take control away from her stupid brain and consult her heart.

And in that moment, she falls. Because it’s only when she stops to ask, that Marceline realizes it has ceased beating.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the delays to anyone who is still reading!

There’s a very peculiar feeling tugging at Marceline that makes her a little uneasy about the fact that she regaled the night of her death to Finn.

Before today, it had never been spoken of out loud – barely even to Bonnibel. Certainly not in nearly as much detail. It was in Bonnie’s nature not to pry if circumstance didn’t demand it. She had a very vague synopsis of the events, much like a movie tagline, but that was it.

Finn hadn’t specifically _pried_ either, but he’s been confined to that bed…and she had already started on what was no doubt now, an endless spiral of one informative instance blending into another. Marceline had the right and the good sense to say no; to deny Finn and leave well enough alone. He’d probably blush, stutter, and eventually ask something else. But, he did ask. And truthfully; underneath all the uncertainty, the embarrassment, and the raw, nerve-wracking actualization of it all, was a sense of relief. There is some part of Marceline, who now knows full well, that she needed all of this out. Decades are too long. Centuries are too long. A _thousand_ years is _far_ too long to keep so much junk inside. Though, reassuring herself doesn’t stop the nervous thrumming in her skin.

She’s heading back into the infirmary now with Finn’s lunch. A fierce sense of trepidation engulfs her as she breaches the threshold. When she had finished telling her story, there wasn’t much conversation after that. Marceline hadn’t allowed any. She had mumbled something hastily about Finn needing something to eat about five whole seconds after, and fled the room.

Finn though, that boy, he had a way with things – with people.

He’s all cheery grins when she comes back. Totes nothing but natural.

“Stir fry! Yuss!”

“Put some hot sauce on it for ya too there, brotha.”

She hands the steaming pile of veggies, noodles and meat to Finn, who is likely to burn his tongue off on the first bite with his impatience.

“Thanks Marce,” he says gratefully, spinning his fork to catch the noodles. He’s not looking at her now.

“…And, thanks for the story,” he says, quietly. “For, uh, letting me in on all that, you know?” He turns a cheek, glances over to give her a nervous grin.

Marceline knows that he knows she can be set off at the drop of a hat. But, the acknowledgement is good. It’s casual. It’s better than an awkward silence without any address what so ever.

A nonchalant shrug is the only thing Marceline can bring herself to give in return.

“It’s cool. I mean, someone oughta entertain the Champion while he’s stuck in here. And Grod knows you don’t wanna hear nothing about Chocoberry and her jibber-jabbery nonsense about the time she got locked in the pantry for twenty two hours and had an epiphany about the statistical probability of a pizza hurricane systematically using its crust density to soak up three quarters of the lakes and rivers on the eastern half of Ooo.”

He barks out a laugh. “How even?!”

“I maybe, might have locked her in there a few days ago for her own good. Finally let her out. She wouldn’t shut up about Colonel Candycorn’s untimely demise at the hands of the humans. Kept saying some bullgunk about him relaying his otherworldly requests through her energy channel. With all that was happening, it was driving Bonnie crazy. So I dealt with it. I mean, probably not in the best way, but it was recent post massacre and honestly, I just didn’t care.”

Finn drives a heaping fork full of food into his mouth. “Word.”

The stir fry is good. Better than good. Finn takes it upon himself to finish his meal while Marceline lounges next to him, floating aimlessly higher as the minutes drag on. It’s not uncomfortable – they’re more than past that with each other. If Marceline had somewhere to go, she’d be gone. She’s there either for a reason, or because she has nothing else to do at the moment. Finn doesn’t really care which, he’s appreciating the company.

Though, as he slurps down the last bite of his meal, it’s hard to be preoccupied with food when there’s none left on his plate. He’s grateful for all the missing bits of information Marceline has graced him with about her life in the past few days, but, all it does it open up more questions.

Finn, by nature, usually leaves business that isn’t his alone, unless something occurs in a particular incident. Even then, he is reluctant to think on it any more than he has to after the event has occurred. It’s not that he doesn’t find it important, or unworthy of reflection. It’s just… he forgets about things if he isn’t reminded of them. Which, is one thing that is making this damn hospital bed so hard; he’s got nothing but time and his own thoughts. He can’t preoccupy himself with doing… _things_. Grod, what did folks do when they didn’t have stuff _to do?!_

All he can think about is the first time he met Hunson. Glob, knowing now what he didn’t know back then? He had just opened the portal per Marcy’s instructions, thinking he was being good and just. He was twelve and a half. Finn is now in awe that she hadn’t torn his head off, literally. That had been the first time Marceline had seen Hunson since she fled the Nightosphere. She told him so.

It had been centuries.

He feels sick; sick that he did that. Opened up a fissure in a relationship that was none of his damn business.

Marceline hadn’t blamed him though. Hadn’t held it against him, or brought it up whenever she needed to razz him.

The only time she ever expressed her discomfort was when it had happened.

_‘Finn, what the heck did you do?!’_

And that had been it. She accepted what was happening and dealt with it.

Finn glances up toward his companion, who has drifted halfway to the ceiling now. Marceline _appears_ to be pure lax; arms dropped, legs crossed, head lolling back and eyes closed. He’s always been in a state of supernatural awe toward Marceline. She`s all punch packed into a tiny, little package – and even then, her ability to shift and transform was definitely something to behold. She’s always managed to teeter on a decent balance of fierce and chill. But, today, that admiration touches something else; something much deeper.

Again, Finn is suddenly awash with the fact that unless he is confronted with something – he does not usually think about it. But now, he`s chastising himself for being so callous. He has plenty of friends or acquaintances who act strange or out of sorts. Heck, even he himself has many things that leave him questioning his choices, his existence, his…well, everything. Some seriously weird shizz has gone down in his life that has either messed him up fierce, or changed who he was. And he’s only eighteen. He`s never stopped to think that maybe just because people don`t confess, doesn`t mean they don`t have something to say.

Marceline is old. Older than old. She`s got Cougar VIP status. And maybe, no one stopped to ask her what was up. Finn attempts to fathom what it must be like to carry not eighteen, but a thousand year’s worth of experiences under his belt. He’s simply can’t.

“Marcy.”

Her eyes snap open and she peers down. Finn’s tone hadn’t spoken of askance. He merely said her name. It’s a curious thing for him to do.

“Hmm?”

“How’d you meet Bubblegum?”

This question isn’t shy, or timid, like the last ones have been, she notices. A fanged grin creeps up upon her face.

“How I met our dear Bubs, Finn?”

“Yeah, what went down with Peebles?”

“Hmmm well, good ol’ Bonni-butt had a lousy set up somewhere in the woods,” she croons, drifting down in rhythmic arcs to settle in the air at Finn’s level.

“And when I left the Nightosphere…I almost ate her.”

“Dude, you almost _what?_ ”

“Ate her. Clearly didn’t. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.”

“Don’t wear _panties_.”

“Pfft, I’ve hid inside your house on a Wednesday night more than once.”

Finn’s face explodes with red. Marceline has to wipe from her thoughts how yummy that looks, and how good the sudden blush on his cheeks smells. She hasn’t had cravings like these in a long time, but oh, the blood that night the humans came. The taste is hard to forget.

“Stop _doing_ that. Now you owe me.”

She relents. “Fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s enough. She’s had enough. Marceline can’t be here anymore. The Nightosphere – it’s suffocating. The martial arts Hunson has been making her learn; those are good. Those keep her preoccupied. She’s good at them. She listens, she learns. Her little demon teacher isn’t her Dad, so that works. It keeps her centered on her body, despite not knowing if it is indeed real or not. It also serves to keep her out of her head. This, Marceline likes. After half a century or so, she’s convinced she’ll never lose a match against anyone or anything.

When she isn’t learning to fight, Hunson tries to get her to read. And she does. Marceline likes reading. Simon taught her. She just doesn’t want to read what her father wants her to read. The Nightosphere may be chaotic, but it has its rules. Marceline does not care for them.

Hunson has a library – tomes upon tomes of long worn anthologies. Most are pure human exaggerations and extrapolations of demonic encounters. They tell Marceline of what she is and what she is expected to be. There’s always a heavy, nauseating feeling circling in her gut whenever she reads those ones. It’s a scary, frightening and above all, familiar clench that leaves her confused and ashamed. The books tell of harsh, violent beings; sucking souls and blood and energy. Wraith-like creatures whose only reason for existing is to devour. Demons possess, distort and destroy. They’re ugly, gruesome, heartless beings.

Vampires, Marceline learns, are much the same, though their more manipulative nature sets them apart. As if the physical and spiritual assault of a demon wasn’t enough, the vampires could sometimes alter the way a person feels, and acts; their desires changed, turning them into slaves to the demon. Creating a vacuum of an individual where even their mind was not their own anymore. Marceline hates this. She imagines being violated in such a way, where if her father stared into her eyes and made her feel things she never wanted to feel – to have the need to bow down to his every demand and whim. That it is engrained in her being to do so to others nearly puts her over the edge some days.

Then of course, there are the books containing the rules and laws of Hunson’s position, spanning countless volumes that really, she can’t bring herself to touch for fear of falling into eternal slumber. There are certain books she enjoys – ones plastered with paintings and photos of humans detailing some of their history. The literal content doesn’t sit very long with Marceline’s brain but she loves running her fingers over the photos. It’s been so long since she’s seen what someone else like her looks like. Wondering what sort of lives they lived or if they were kind, or had friends, or if would they have liked her. Eventually, even these whimsical hopes and daydreams turn sour and bittersweet. Marceline was not meant for these things. It isn’t long before she tosses the books aside in favour of exploring the Night.

Everything seems to be built around thwarting any step or process that proposes productivity. The opposite of everything everyone has known. Like, ever. The entire experience of existing in the Night is utterly maddening. She fears she is going to lose herself. And so, it is one day, after nearly two hundred and fifty years of living in an even more agonizing limbo than the wastelands ever were, and during a particularly heated argument with her father, that Marceline leaves him hanging with the best _‘fuck you’_ she can ever imagine granting him.

They’re in Hunson’s throne room and she has just lost her temper after her dad has complained again, that Marceline is still not yet living up to his expectations or her potential. She should be more than happy to be put on torture duty. Everyone loves torture duty! Because you’re not the one getting tortured!

She is ungrateful.

She is disobedient.

She is immature, irresponsible and insolent.

The Abadeer axe hanging above the throne is the first pointy object she sees. Marceline doesn’t intend on striking Hunson, though some days she wishes she could. Nor does she want to slice open any of the demons just because they happen to be in her way. But, she does need to feel something. She needs to feel force. Vibrations in her bones and hard resistance. The stone wall shakes with the strength of the swing. A decent amount of rocks fall from a wide gash when Marceline tears the axe back out.

She’s tense and panting.

Hunson gives her a small pout.

“You finished, or would you like a few more to calm you down?”

The axe still in her grip gives her something to squeeze so she doesn’t slice her palm open with her nails, but there’s still something that’s about to give.

“I can’t take this anymore…” she mutters, staring at her feet, not sure if it is more an address to her father or herself.

Hunson’s thundering laugh bounces around the chamber. A repeating echo in Marceline’s ears.

“Sorry kid, but in case I hadn’t made it clear a long time ago, you’re stuck here.”

She refuses to look at him.

“…Can’t stay here.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

And then, something strange happens that Marceline has never quite been able to explain. Twice in her life she has come so close to breaking beyond being broken. So much so, that her entire being is either going to simply disappear, or snap so hard that reality closes up around her and shifts to manifest into something completely different; something she can work with. Marceline has no idea how to make this happen on a whim.

The first time, in that room, deep in the Night, she feels what eternity is like. This is it. She’s felt the rest of her life already; an endless, mindless cycle. If she remains in the Nightosphere, she won’t make it. Her body just won’t chug along anymore. Her spirit, if she even has one, is shattered – feels like beyond repair, and it certainly can’t handle anymore. Her mind isn’t in any better shape either. Some days she thinks it might already be gone.

Suddenly, it ceases to be a choice anymore. There is no choice of her staying tethered to this place. She simply cannot. How is it that she can be dead, but still continue to _be_? And to be with feelings and emotions both physical and mental?

Maybe he wasn’t thinking, but it has suddenly come to light that Hunson has told her, and she has also read that the demons in the Nightosphere choose this torture. They choose it and it is up to them to escape their own insanity. It might not have been in his best interest to tell her that; to give that little string of hope.

Marceline can’t take the torture anymore. She knows Hunson cannot leave – he is bound by the laws of his being and his position. He is different. He claimed that she could be attuned to this world, but something in her is resisting. It’s not her and she can’t embrace it. She might be different in the sense that she was born demon, but she was not born in this world and she died just the same.

Marceline does not care where she ends up, but anywhere is better than this place.

She finally loses interest in her feet.

“I said I can’t stay here.”

“You don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“I’m not staying here,” she states, firmly. And it’s funny because she believes it. Maybe she’s finally going crazy but suddenly, there is no doubt.

Hunson looks at her then, his mask slips a little, stoicism cracking under what Marceline believes to be a bit of fear.

That’s what does it.

To this day, Marceline does not know what she did.

There was a sudden blackness; different but familiar as when she died. This one feels a little more like relief. The blissful sensation returns for a glorious moment again – until suddenly she can feel once more. Feel her body, feel her emotions, her thoughts and her feelings. Her primal hunger and unsavory desires, the demonic and vampiric essence that makes up and sustains her physical being.  Everything that covers and blankets what she is underneath comes rushing back.

When Marceline opens her eyes, she is in the woods. The axe is lying on the ground beside her and though he had been tucked safely in her room at the time of her departure, Hambo is somehow crushed in her embrace. Lifting her nose to the air, she takes a long inhalation. It smells of wood and wind and the crisp chill of night. It’s beautiful. Though it’s been years, and the forest has no doubt grown, Marceline knows that this is the exact spot she died.

She was back. Wherever back was. She didn’t even know anymore. She didn’t really care.

Letting herself fall back to the ground, limbs outstretched, eyes on the stars, she starts laughing and sobbing at the same time. If she tried to think about it, she would have a hard time placing what she was feeling. It seemed to be everything at once. For the first time in a long time, Marceline simply lays there for hours, basking in her contented existence.

Her happiness is somewhat short lived, however.

* * *

 

It's been three weeks since Marceline left the Nightosphere.  She's wondering now if it was really the best choice, or if maybe she would have been better off calming down a little before making a decision.  She could always go back; that was one option, but if Marceline was going to do that, she definitely didn't want her father having the satisfaction of her coming crawling back after less than a month.  Not a chance. And no. Just no. What was she even thinking? Questioning if she made the right choice? She absolutely did. Just that, her rumbling stomach wasn’t exactly agreeing with her right now.

It has been three days since she's eaten.  Vampires feed on blood - humans preferably, and since there doesn't seem to be any of those lurking around anymore, animals it is.  Problem is... there aren't much of those around either. Not many she's been able to stomach, anyway.  A few strange lizard-like beings have come slithering about but they taste all kinds of nasty and their blood is a funky colour.  Marceline thought she remembered frogs having red blood from when she was little but that was a long time ago.  A few rodents have crossed her path - twice to be exact, and those were treats.  Except for the one with the extra head. That one was full of green goop.

The Nightosphere had been consistently dark, but she also misses the sunlight. Knowing that it comes around every half a day and that she can’t bask in the sun’s warm rays feels like its own torture.

That’s not what’s really on her mind right now as Marceline risks taking off to find food while the sun is only just starting to set. The cover of the trees helps tremendously and she figures if she’s going to find something to mow down on, it’ll be hiding in here – hopefully scampering back to its shelter before the cover of night.

Something is not right though. It’s getting hard to pay attention, to remember which nooks she’s even checked. Marceline takes a look at her surroundings and feels nothing but disorientation. Hands; she holds her hands out. They are quivering. The skin is stretched out taught against her bones, any other substance she’s made of draining away to keep her alive. And when did walking become difficult? Her legs feel numb. Swallowing is nearly impossible.

This’ll be it then, she thinks. Again. It will be so embarrassing showing back up on her dad’s doorstep after three weeks. And maybe no coming back next time. Marceline figures making it back to the material plane had something to do with the fact that the vampire bit her without knowing she was a demon. He never intended to turn her, but her demonic side was still alive within the realm of the Night. If vampires don’t fully kill their prey, they turn them. Anyone who is dead cannot exist in a physical sense in the material plane. But vampires weren’t dead, they were _undead_. And so, she made it back in her undead state.

Maybe if she died again she could still escape, but she wouldn’t end up here. Did it matter? Probably not. Nothing really mattered at the moment, and the ground was looking pretty cozy. She should really be looking for food, but man, a nap seemed like the most amazing idea and –

_‘Holy Glob.’_

Marceline’s legs are shocked back into action. Her eyes tear open, pupils dilated. What energy she has left disperses itself to her senses and muscles in overload. Like a lightning bolt has just ripped through her entire being.

_‘That **smell**.’_

She doesn’t know where she is going, or how she’s navigating herself. Auto-pilot has kicked in and Marceline is just along for the ride. Whatever she senses is growing stronger with each passing second. It’s thick and sweet; setting off urges and a pulsing sensation that she never knew was possible. She’s running, running, running, until finally;

_‘Stop.’_

Crouched into a low squat, Marceline sniffs the air. Ruby eyes peer through the foliage she’s used for cover. She’s found herself at the edge of a small clearing. There is a large tree in which a foundation of wood has been built against. Though small and unappealing to the eye, it appears solid and sturdy enough for one to live in. And that is indeed what it is; a house. Marceline is sure of this because a flash of energy – hungry and desirous, streamlines from her head to her stomach, down between her legs and finally out her hands and feet – a tight clench at the sight of what strolls out from behind the structure, scent billowing through the wind to ensnare Marceline on the spot.

It is a girl.

There are a brief few seconds that drag on for eternity, where Marceline can only stare in wonder at her. She knows she’s seen and met, and even played with other kids before, but the memories don`t even feel real anymore. Almost like a dream.

The wonderment quickly shifts to a terrible sadness. Finally, _finally_ , someone else is here, alive. This could be someone Marceline could talk to, listen to, and share things with. Just _be_ around. Not be alone anymore. And this girl isn’t a rat or a stuffed animal, or Simon gone mad, and she certainly isn’t Hunson. She is a living breathing girl – like Marceline. Like the few sparse memories of her mother she has. And she’s never really known anyone so similar. Watching her walk about the front of the house is as surreal as returning back to the world itself was.

As the seconds drag on, the sadness turns into fear. The realization sinks in that Marceline is going to devour her. She is going to grasp her about the waist and mouth to muffle the screams; she hates those. Then she’ll drive her teeth into her throat. The hunger is so strong that she likely won’t be able to restrain herself to merely sucking the blood out of her. Marceline will tear her apart.

_‘No, no, no.’_

She tries to fight her body – her legs, but it’s not working. She finds herself half sprawled on the ground. One piece of her is succeeding at moving forward while the last bit of her sanity tries to hold her back.

Marceline almost finds herself laughing at the irony of it all. There`s someone here. Someone real, innocent, tangible. She`s been wanting this for as long as she can remember.

Now all she wants to do is eat her.

At least she makes a bit of a ruckus in her weak attempt to keep herself at bay. The girl`s head snaps to her as Marceline all but rolls gracelessly out of the shrubbery. Her posture immediately becomes defensive as she grabs for a large stick.

“Who’s there?” she calls toward the edge of the clearing.

She inches closer.

_‘No, damnit!’_

“Stay away!” Marceline gasps, but it barely comes out. Her throat is so dry.

The girl hears her muffled pleas and lowers the stick slightly, continuing to advance until she finally spots Marceline; pinned to the ground on all fours, shaking, coughing, and struggling.

“Hey,” she calls quietly. Her voice is so soft. Marceline wants to feel it vibrate under her teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’ll help.” she reassures her, slowly stepping closer, reaching a hand out.

Marceline looks up to tell the other girl to run, but she finds herself dead frozen the instant she meets her.

The girl is only a fresh teenager, has to be. She’s not as thin as a board, but there’s no shape to her. And pink. Everything is pink. Her skin in its entirety along with her hair. A soft, round face is staring back at Marceline, near indistinguishable jawline and puffy cheeks – sun kissed freckles splattered across them. And big, blue eyes; wide with worry and deep with compassion.

There’s nothing left in Marceline, yet tears manage to well up to the corners of her eyes. She can’t do this. She will not do this.

The girl crouches down to meet her at her level. Grod, why isn’t she running? Marceline has a vague idea of what her appearance depreciates to when she’s starving. It certainly isn’t a pretty sight. She’s seen pictures of crazed vampires in her father’s library. They are frightening. But this stupid kid only wants to help.

Hunson can think what he wants. Laugh all he wants. She won’t kill this girl. Marceline refuses to. She’ll die before she touches her. Again. It won’t be worth living the eternity after knowing what she had done.

A small hand reaches out.

And it happens again.

Something inside of Marceline wakes up.

She lunges forward before the world goes black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You leave comments of love, I post new chapter. I think this is how it works.

Bonnibel's appearance in the infirmary to visit Finn isn’t entirely a social call. Then again, though he was her friend, it was rare that she sought him out solely for the purpose of his company. It was not that she didn’t enjoy his company, merely that she lacked the time for excessive social situations that did not also have merit regarding trade and relations with other kingdoms, or benefits of her own. And she really did like Finn. He lacked a severe judgmental side like the rest of her ‘friends’ did. That being because her friends were other dignitaries and royalty; constantly scrutinizing and analyzing her every move, even in the most casual of situations. Being with Finn, Jake and Lady felt like relief. Bonnibel hadn’t known anything even remotely close to that since Marceline. Though she lacked the time to make these connections. They cultivated from happenstance. Had Finn been less of a useful asset to her, she can’t imagine their friendship would even be existent. Regardless, though he has been stewing in anticipation amidst the sheets of his hospital bed for days, Bonnibel seems to have found a potential use for him.

“Peebs!” he calls excitedly when she whisks into the room.

Bonnibel makes sure to plaster on her best smile, and upon seeing Finn looking healthier, it is not entirely forced either. Raising her hand to twiddle her fingers in a dainty, little ‘hello’, she consciously gives her hips a little more sway as she saunters over to his bed.

The split second reaction that slips on his features to be so quickly reeled back in again does not go unnoticed by her. Finn has never attempted to show anything other than friendly affection toward her for nearly three years. For that, she is grateful. There have been a brief few months of his life where Finn has dated a total of two other girls after his fallout with Phoebe Flame, and even one period in between when Jake said he was always hanging out with some guy around his age named Anaconda Dan. Bonnie never sought to enquire further. Nothing seemed to work out long term for him. He bounced back quickly. Likely a lesson learned from Phoebe, and to an extent, herself.

However, this is a matter of kingdom security, and not for the first time in Bonnibel’s life, she is glad Finn is an eighteen year old male human. She needs something from him. She is well aware of how to get it. She has just ensured that she already has, but she’ll go one step further just in case when she sits on the bed directly next to him to drag his head into her neck for a hug; making extra sure to run her fingers tight along his scalp before resting in his hair.

“Ugh, I feel mad nasty that you have to be in this bed dude,” she says, letting him go. “But Doctor Princess says you’re healing well. No internal bleeding, stitches are staying in, you’re not infected and you’ve had no fever and plenty of appetite. Pretty boss for getting shanked.”

“Does that mean I can blow this popsicle stand soon? I’m dying in here, Prubs. Can’t you fast track me on outta here?” Finn begs.

She scoffs. “As if I’d let you leave if there was a chance you could hurt yourself before being fully healed. You’d just wind up back in here all over again and I know you don’t want that, Finn.”

He face drops, though he is well aware she is right.

“I know,” he cedes. “I just feel useless. Even pointless…seriously PB, I need to do something. This homie is _not_ meant for long periods of solitary. I’m questioning my existence bro, and I do not think that is healthy.”

“Sometimes it is,” she shrugs.

“Well, it’s damn uncomfortable. I feel all weird, like I’m going cuckoo bananas up in here.”

She chuckles. “Well, maybe there is something you can help me with.”

His eyes widen at the prospect. “Oh, for reals? Name it.”

It had taken a year and a half followed by another girl before Finn was able to resume a healthy relationship with Phoebe. He had confessed that he had always wanted to remain friends with her, but something in him always globbed up every time he saw her. Apparently Phoebe had always been very open to being friends with Finn. She forgave him. He helped her keep her throne. Friends was good. It wasn’t until a little over a year ago that they were able to resume that. Bonnie didn’t always make it to movie nights at the tree house, but she heard Phoebe came regularly. Sometimes Finn made trips to the Fire Kingdom when he had nothing else to do. Usually Phoebe would make a point to visit with Finn and Jake before proceeding toward the Candy Kingdom if there were business matters that needed tending to.  

Bonnibel and Phoebe had a very loose acquaintance with one another. It was a delicate thing, like walking on glass, especially after Bonnie had infiltrated the Fire Kingdom with what Phoebe labeled, ‘malicious intent.’ Pfft. Bonnie called it preventative measures. It wasn’t that Bonnibel had anything against the young flame lord. On the contrary, she had good intentions, but they were masked by extreme naivety stemming from a deep lack of social and political experience and basic interaction. It was difficult to understand the world and how to properly react to it when one has spent most of their life essentially in prison.

This is precisely why Finn will do a much better job as an ambassador than Bonnie will do as a monarch.

“I’m trying to rally troops, to see who I’ve got to help keep everyone covered in case the humans decide to attack again. I’ve got my hands mega full trying to contact everyone, and you’re pretty tight with Phoebe, right? I figured maybe I could use some correspondence help and you’d be perfect! I haven’t gotten in touch with the Fire Kingdom yet, maybe you could.”

She’s barely even wording it as a question and Finn is already nodding in approval.

“Nooooo problemo m’lady. I got this covered.”

Bonnie removes herself from the bed to smile down at him. “Thanks Finn, it really helps. It’s looking like they want our resources, (Lies. …Half lies.) And they’ve already attacked so many of the Kingdoms. It would be likely to assume everyone wants to help to get the humans out of here,” she reasons to him. He has no idea the vampires are out. They’ve been given a deal and a truce and they’ve taken it. Bonnie has a sneaking suspicion they weren’t the only ones.

“I can do that no problem for you PB,” he says. “Finally, something to do. I mean, Marceline coming to chill has been pretty nice, but now I get to do something. Though it was pretty funny hearing that she almost ate you. Heh.”

Bonnibel is in the midst of turning and leaving when she is abruptly frozen on the spot.

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh,” he shoots her a lopsided grin. “She just told me about the first time you guys met. She almost ate you, that’s cray cray lady. I didn’t know you guys had known each other so long. Thought y’alls kinda hated each other at first, to be honest.”

Bonnie turns back slightly, hiding the shock from his initial confession. She had assumed Marceline had mentioned the more recent event that even _they_ hadn’t really talked about.

“Yeah, it was a pretty strange way of meeting. And you weren’t far off, Finn. When you know someone that long, you argue, you fight. I’m sure you and Jake have your problems every now and again.”

“Yeah, but Jake’s my bro. I still love em’. We always figure it out. Glad you guys did…whatever was going on.”

Bonnibel’s expression softens. “Hm, yeah. We usually do.” It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the total truth. There’s tension and words unspoken, but everything is workable now. It’s not the same as it used to be, but it’s functional. Bonnibel turns on her heel.

“I’ll stop by tonight Finn. See you later.”

* * *

 

She’s retrieving firewood when Bonnibel hears the rustling toward her right. She spares a quick glance over to the far left of the clearing where she keeps her wood and axe. The split second decision that it is both too far away and too long to keep her eyes off of whatever is hunkering about in the bushes, leads her to grasping for the large fire stick leaning against the cabin instead.  

“Who’s there?”

There’s no immediate response and it doesn’t seem like whatever is in there is trying very hard to hide, so Bonnibel suspects it’s likely nothing more than an animal wandering about.

She steps a little closer and hears a stream of strangled muffles.

It is then that she sees the shadow of a figure topple into her yard.

Whatever it is, it is struggling, clamoring, and appears to be injured.

Though the being has been reduced to no more than shaking on its hands and knees, Bonnibel can tell that it is some sort of bipedal creature. She presumed the humans were gone, but the land is full of surprises.

She lowers her stick. If it wanted to attack, it would have.

Twilight amongst the woodland can be difficult if one is not built for it. The sun streamlines powerfully through the cracks along the trees, blocking much of her vision. Pivoting so the harsh glare of the sun’s setting rays are behind her, Bonnibel positions herself in front of whoever has stumbled upon her home.

Without the bright light obscuring her vision, she can now see what appears to be something more sentient in nature, for it is wearing clothes. A long cape of midnight hair drapes in curtains around a face gasping for breath.

“Hey. I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’ll help,” she attempts in reassurance, reaching a hand out.

It is then that the creature meets her with its crazed stare.

Bonnibel has never seen anything like this before. Whether it is male or female, she cannot tell. Only a thin, dried out face hangs on its last legs in front of her. Skin paradoxically wrinkled and stretched all at once, sharp teeth bared, and blazing red eyes hold her in place. Like an undead zombie begging for the flesh it once had. Something in her tells her to pierce her stick into its skull. That is, until she sees the tears forming along the reddened crevices of its eyes.

She’s frozen on the spot. Almost regrets not killing it when it lunges at her.

Strong arms grasp her about the waist, paralyzing her. Bonnibel expects immediate pain, but surprisingly, feels none. There is a mouth and teeth working upon her but, evidently, it isn’t anything she need be concerned about, and within a few seconds, the creature has released her and fallen back to the ground, apparently unconscious.

Bonnibel is left in the dirt, tremors shivering up and down her entire body. What the plum just happened? After catching her breath, she immediately begins inspecting herself for any signs of physical trauma. Groping her head, where the creature had assaulted, she finds a few small scratches on her scalp, but nothing more.

As her hands continue to roam about her face and neck area, a few stray strands of hair fall into her face. And something about them is very wrong.

Bonnibel grabs for her hair and holds it out in front of her. White! Her hair is _white?_

She’s way past confused, but it seems to be the only substantial evidence of the assault. The creature itself is still passed out on the ground. On her hands and knees, Bonnibel inches forward to get a better look.

Sprawled half on its side, long hair obscuring its face, Bonnie reaches a hand out to cautiously move the hair aside to get a better look at what she’s dealing with. Expecting the horrid, hollowed out face that had stopped her dead in her tracks, Bonnibel blinks in astonishment as the hair falls away.

“Oh! Hey, wow, not so bad,” she remarks upon seeing a visage of full, pale skin. Young, and definitely not dying now.

It appears to be a girl. Bonnibel is fairly certain that whatever she did must have satiated her to an acceptable extent, otherwise it would likely be a dehydrated corpse – dead, on the ground, and not the calm faced being that, though unconscious, appeared content.

There’s never been any human girl that Bonnibel has met that resembled this interloper, leading her to wonder just what the heck she was. The most obvious discrepancies being the near white hue of her skin; eerily tinged with the cold, pale blue of death. The sharp little teeth that plopped out of her barely parted lips, and finally, the elongated ears, peeking out through locks of hair to a harsh point.

As Bonnibel examines the other girl, she can’t help but notice an ephemeral quality to her. Having spent most of what little life she has experienced with a small tribe of humans before they expired and succumbed to the land and disease, she finds it curious that this girl, out of all the others, is far more enticing to her senses than anyone else she has encountered.

Glob, she wants to examine the bajesus out of her.

It’s clear this chick isn’t going anywhere. So, Bonnibel takes it upon herself to hoist her up as much as possible under the arms, and drag her to her cabin for analysis.

* * *

 

Bonnibel leaves the other girl lying dead to the world upon her rickety bed of furs and old blankets. And that is hardly an understatement; the first thing she did was check for a heartbeat, and found none. Curious, she had lifted one of her eyelids, finding the reflexes very much alive. So bizarre.

A skin sample is the next thing taken. Bonnibel has quite a nice microscope she pilfered from an old university building a few years back that she loves more than her right foot. It’s almost flung out the window in frustration when the skin sample she examines continue to hum and thrive like it’s never been torn from its host. Even a few hours after she checks and re-checks it. It’s both curious and maddening.

It defies every logic of biology that Bonnibel has ever taken upon herself to learn.

She does not like when science defies its own rules.

But this only entices her more.

It’s only a few short hours later, before midnight, when the girl wakes. Bonnibel is boiling water for tea over the fire when it happens.

Upon her return to the small sleeping area of the tiny cabin, Bonnibel stops dead in her tracks. The girl is sitting up slowly, rubbing her head. At the brush of her hair off to the side, she lifts her face and her eyes lock on Bonnibel.

Piercing red orbs bulge with shock. Feet and knees are brought up on the bed as she presses herself so far into the wall it appears like she’s trying to climb through it.

“You’re awake,” Bonnibel says. “Here.” She sits the cup of tea down on the table. “I can make another for myself.”

The girl blinks rapidly a few times, mouth opening and closing. She looks about the room frantically before settling back on Bonnibel.

“I – you’re alive?” she stutters out.

“Yes?” Bonnibel responds with a tilt of her head. “Though I’m not one hundred percent I can say the same for you. Usually living is associated with a beating heart.”

It seems as though the girl doesn’t know how to contend with the obvious information. She looks away. Her hands run about her face, then down to run up and along both arms. Clacking her knees together repeatedly, she finally speaks again.

“…I didn’t kill you,” she states softly, peeking from behind her curtain of hair to chance a glance toward Bonnibel, eyes both saddened and hopeful.

“No,” Bonnibel says, turning back to pour the rest of the boiled water into another cup for herself. “But will my hair go back to the way it was? I rather liked the pink.”

Her back is turned and it takes a moment to hear the confused response.

“…I don’t know what you mean…”

Water is poured, homemade tea infusion dunked. Bonnie takes a wooden spoon from a drawer. She likes to stir and sip from it when the tea is too hot. She plops down on the small chair she has, leaving a low rise wooden table the only barrier between her and the stranger.

Though Bonnibel is still cautious, it seems that even at the chick’s craziest of crazy, she refrained from harming her. And it’s been so long since she’s had someone to talk to; let alone someone this interesting.

“You turned my hair white,” she explains.

The girl’s brow pinches in confusion. Her nose crinkles up a bit.

“I’ve never done that before. I don’t know how I did that…” she confesses.

Upon the admission, Bonnibel’s expression matches that of the other girl.

“It appeared to provide you with sustenance. How do you normally get by?”

The question has quite obviously made the girl uncomfortable. Fidgeting in the bed, still pressed on the wall, she can’t look at Bonnie.

“I uh, I’m a vampire…”

The response is barely a whisper, but it was meant to be heard. Bonnibel perks up at the term, an odd blend of intrigue and defensiveness pooling within her.

“I’ve heard of those,” she offers, standing abruptly to position herself in front of a wall lined with books. “But I assumed they were merely fables.”

Running her fingers along the books, she spots what she’s hunting for and grabs it from the shelf. The girl remains silent, but her gaze follows Bonnie as she does so, flipping through the pages with haste until she finds the information she’s looking for. A black and white etched photo bares itself to her curious eyes. The demon in the photo a rugged, harsh looking creature. The stranger on her bed looks nothing like this, though when she had first tumbled out of the bushes, Bonnibel can link the connection without a second thought.

“Vampires drink blood,” she states, as a matter of fact. “Human blood, normally.”

She looks back to the bed to the girl who is clearly still in her state of discomfort. Bonnibel knows her clinical detachment had been something that separated her from most of the humans she had spent time with. She is used to it. She wonders if the girl’s unease stems from something else.

“Yeah, I’ve never really had human blood, just…other beings,” she confesses, hand nervously coming up to scratch and play at the back of her head.

Bonnibel places the book back on the shelf and resumes her position in the chair. It could be that her not being human had something to do with it, but the cogs are turning in her brain and she suspects that might not be it; especially since this girl has admitted to drinking the blood of other things. Bonnibel has bled before - reddish, though she knows the chemical components are not the same as the humans, nor the other mammals that walk the planet. She finds herself suddenly excited with the enlightenment of hypothesis. Her very favourite feeling.

“I’m Bonnibel, by the way,” she offers, sticking her hand out over the table. If this is to continue, an introduction would be most polite, and beneficial.

The girl hesitates, but finally reaches her hand to grasp Bonnie’s. It’s not cold, like the texts say, but there’s no warmth to it.

“Marceline.”

They loosen their hands to face a moment of silence before Marceline breaks it.

“I’m sorry about your hair. And, you know, being in your home. Thanks for not leaving me in the dirt, and stuff…” The last bit comes out in an embarrassed mumble before she speaks up again.

“Did I hurt you at all?”

Bonnie smiles. “No. Just a little shocked. I’m fine though.”

Her readings of vampires are coming back to her, especially upon her quick re-examination of her book. They are supposed to be violent, self-serving beings; controlling and manipulative. Predators to the core. She wonders for a brief moment if Marceline’s solemnness and apparent compassion is merely an act, but upon quickly reviewing the first moments of their meeting, where what would have been a source of easy food was replaced by an obvious announcement of her presence preceding the lack of being drained dry, Bonnibel deduces that, no, this must be how she is.

Bonnibel remembers living with the humans and at one point a wild dog, or wolf - she was not sure which, had strolled into their camp, hungry. After the group had fed it and decided it was not a threat, they allowed it to stay. It proved to be a great companion and served as a guard to the camp, protecting and playing with the children the most. Marceline feels similar and Bonnie finds it rather endearing.

“I don’t mind you being here,” Bonnie admits. “But, I would like to try something if you aren’t opposed to it?”

Marceline’s perplexed look isn’t unwarranted.

“Something like, what?”

Bonnibel’s excitement hums through her as she stands. “I’ll be right back.”

She leaves Marceline as she makes her way to the kitchen to grasp a bowl of fresh raspberries and a small piece of smoked, dried meat. The berries were procured from the woods earlier that day. The meat had been sitting under her cabin in the cold cellar, leftover from the evening’s dinner. Bonnibel does not typically enjoy meat, but when there are not enough fruits or vegetables available and she needs to conserve resources, there is little choice. She can live off the residual sugar the animal has eaten and retained in its cells. Upon returning to her chair, Bonnibel thrusts the bowl of berries in Marceline’s direction.

“Could you eat one of these, please?”

The guarded disposition of the undead girl does not go unnoticed by Bonnibel, so she takes it upon herself to pop one of the raspberries in her own mouth. It takes a moment after she swallows before Marceline hesitantly plucks one from the small bowl to do the same.

There appears to be a mix of both satisfaction and aversion as Marceline chews and swallows down the small bit of fruit. She keeps it down none the less.

“You can eat food,” Bonnibel observes.

Marceline licks her lips. “Yeah, I guess I can.”

“You looked uncomfortable about it,” Bonnibel states, bluntly.

Marceline pulls back into herself, unsure of what Bonnie’s intentions are. “I haven’t eaten food in a long time. …What are you doing?”

“Experimenting. Here.” The piece of meat is pushed toward Marceline who hesitantly takes it in her hands. Upon placing it in her mouth and chewing for a few bites, she all but spits the meat out into her hands, almost gagging. As her tongue pushes the meat out of her mouth, Bonnibel gets a good look at the fangs on Marceline’s upper line of teeth.

“…Sorry. That was gross,” she says, embarrassed.

Bonnibel, on the other hand, is delighted.

“No, it’s perfect! Here,” she exclaims, pushing the bowl of berries on the table toward Marceline, who gladly takes them to get rid of the taste in her mouth. After swallowing a handful, Bonnie’s companion looks back to her, troubled, but does not know how to voice what she is feeling.

Bonnibel is coming to the conclusion that Marceline’s existence in itself seems to be a bit of an awkward subject, though she has never been one to beat around the bush and understand such trivialities. In attempt to preserve what rapport they have developed thus far, she takes it upon herself to tread a little lightly with regards to her newfound thesis.

“You fangs are what take the blood?” she asks, lightly.

She watches Marceline’s fists clench and her eyes bounce around.

“Not sure. I think? That’s what books say. It did feel different, the first time. It feels good swallowing but also, like it does come through my teeth…and kinda…into the rest of my body through like, a different channel.”

Bonnibel is both fascinated and humbled. She can tell by the way Marceline is attempting to grasp for words that this might be the only time she has ever thought about it; how she is nourished. It is scientific discovery at its finest.

She absently picks another berry from the bowl and turns it in her hands, examining it.

“Do you think you could drink this through that channel?”

Bonnibel observes Marceline’s face after the question. She doesn’t disappoint as her features bounce back to the creased brow and crinkled nose that Bonnie had been waiting for. She thinks it’s amusing; seeing a supernatural being appear so very unconsciously vulnerable about a lack of understanding.

“Like eat it without really _eating_ it?” Marceline asks.

“Yes. Just with your fangs,” Bonnibel clarifies, handing the berry over.

Marceline takes it, stares at it with an odd pout before opening her mouth and awkwardly piercing the berry with a single fang, holding it in place with her fingers.

She’s not entirely sure she knows how her teeth work. But, as she closes her eyes, she can feel her body’s response; as automatic as blinking or swallowing, taking whatever the small fruit has to offer to send it circulating through her body. It’s not much, and not nearly as potent as the feeling Marceline had whenever she drained a demon, but it is unmistakably there.

Her eyes open when she hears Bonnibel gasp.

“I was right!”

Marceline pulls the fruit away from her mouth to find nothing more than a squishy lump of grey. It still looks like a raspberry, but without the vibrant red. She stares at it for too long.

“It’s the colour. Not the blood that feeds you,” Bonnie states excitedly after Marceline sits dumbfounded for too long.

The berry is dropped on the table. Bonnibel watches Marceline’s eyes locked on her own lap, zipping back and forth. She’s thinking hard.

“Maybe I don’t have to drink any blood…” she says softly, more to herself than Bonnibel, who can see her eyes becoming glassy, but does not remark on it.

“You don’t like it?”

“I don’t like _doing_ it.”

This is another factoid that Bonnibel will store for more discussion later. She does not want to push Marceline. But, that does not mean she doesn’t want to find out more about this girl’s energy source being pure pigment or phytonutrients, because holy Glob, so freaking cool.

“Well, we can figure out if it works. We can continue to experiment with different foods, and plants, and maybe even objects. We already know my hair seemed to feed you – _a lot_ – and it’s only pink, so it is fair to assume what you can ingest could run along the entire red colour spectrum and –“ Bonnibel halts in mid-rant, having gotten way too excited to notice the expression Marceline is giving her until now.

“ _We?_ ”

Bonnie’s mouth snaps shut and her cheeks blaze with embarrassment. How presumptuous she had been, to assume Marceline would want anything to do with this. With her. Bonnie hadn’t even a clue as to how old she really was. She had a life, likely a long one. Of course she’d be out of here as soon as possible. Probably now, considering it was the middle of the night.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I just got way too enthusiastic about this. I find it fascinating. I find you fascinating,” she admits, a hand reaching up to twirl a lock of white hair amidst nervous fingers. “Sometimes when I get very into research or something that piques my interest, I can often forego thinking about external factors. Such as you having a life. My bad.”

She offers Marceline a small smile, but she can’t hide all the sadness. Bonnie had pre-emptively been looking forward to having some sort of companion.

“Of course you’ll want to carry on, I’m sure you have things to do.”

“Not really,” Marceline says, deadpan.

And she doesn’t. There had been no plan when she left the Nightosphere other than survive. And before that, it was the same deal. Not much to be said about aimless wandering, unless of course, one actually finds something.

Marceline shoots her that same expression Bonnie has been seeing all night.

“But, let me get this straight; you would legit _want_ me here? And help me see if I can just eat red stuff? Like, for fun?”

Bonnibel nods enthusiastically. “Yes! And not just for fun, for science. And it would help you in the long run, no? You said you don’t like the act of feeding on blood.”

Marceline crosses her arms as she slumps back against the wall.

“What happens after you’ve gotten all the information you need? I…go?”

Bonnie shrugs and begins fiddling with a loose splinter on her chair.

“If that’s what you wanted…I mean, you wouldn’t have to if you didn’t want to, but, of course you’ll have no idea if you even like staying here in the first place and you can obviously go whenever you want…” she’s rambling again when Marceline stops her.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“Okay, you’ll stay?” Bonnie confirms, eyes hopeful, not playing with the chair anymore.

Marceline nods. “Yeah, thanks for letting me.” Bonnibel watches as she averts her eyes and begins to chew at her bottom lip with a sharpened fang.

“Just…don’t be afraid to tell me if you want me to go, okay? I’ll understand.”

Bonnibel smiles warmly at her for making the option apparent. She does not currently see any reason to have a problem with Marceline, though the factors could weigh in any direction. They do not know whether colour is a permanent solution. She could become violent. Bonnibel has also lived with enough humans to know that many times more than not, it takes a while for someone’s true colours to show. They could very well just plain not get along. Bonnie doesn’t see that as anything to worry about unless a situation presents itself. For now, she is ecstatic.

“I don’t think we’ll have any problems. And if we do, we can work them out. But, I am glad you agreed.”

For the first time that night, Marceline actually smiles, and it looks good on her. “Me too, and thanks.”

It’s well past time Bonnie should have been sleeping, but she can’t bring herself to go to bed. They talk until the sun comes up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a long one because I'm terrible and don't consistently update. Whoever is still reading, you're all lovely. Sorry if there's errors its late and I can't bring myself to care enough :P Enjoy!

There’s a dirty feeling when Finn dials the number he knows by heart. It is not something he can fully place. He’s dialed Phoebe’s number many of times, but not like this. The comfort of calling her rests in the knowing that whatever activity or meeting Finn has suggested, is purely neutral.

Today’s phone call does not hold that same semblance and Finn is aware of it. Bubblegum’s nonchalance about the entire scenario led him to settle in an agreeable manner toward the task. Being an ambassador for another Kingdom was do big D right? Ain’t no thang to call a homie up and ask for a favesies, right?

 

Right?

 

…It’s weird.

 

“Finn, I was wondering when I would hear from you,” Phoebe’s voice echoes from across the line. It’s expectant. It’s hesitant.

It is the exact opposite of what Finn wants to hear.

This isn’t just the Candy Kingdom’s problem. He knew that from the get go, but hearing it through the Flame Monarch’s tone is something different.

“I heard you were injured,” Phoebe observes, her regality suffocating their usual tonnage with one another.

Finn’s gaze swings up to the ceiling, “Yeah, my man gut got shanked. But it’s cool. PB says I’m gonna be out of the infirmary soon.”

A sigh is heard from across the line, “That’s good. I was worried. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner,” she says sincerely.

“Things have been just a little crazy lately,” she explains.

“I hear ya,” Finn chuckles. “Was wondering how you guys were doing over there?”

There’s a pause, and a bit of shuffling before the conversation is continued.

“Not the greatest. My brother is kicking up a shit fit. He just wants to do nothing but fight, it’s exhausting.”

“And who is he wanting to unleash his wrath upon?”

“Honestly, half the time I don’t even know,” Phoebe grumbles in exasperation.

Seeing this as his chance, Finn grasps at the loose opportunity he’s been given.

“Set him loose on the humans,” he says with a bit of a laugh, “Grod knows there’s enough to keep him busy for a lifetime. And they’ve done nothing but trash the place. Make sure he stays away from me though! Wouldn’t want to accidentally slay the only cool human Ooo has got.”

The laugh he’s expecting from the other end does not come. The phone drips with silence. It’s got his stomach tied up in knots and that’s a no-no. Not good. Finn swallows thickly.

“…FP?”

“…Finn.”

A shaky sigh, followed by a sniffle. “…This is why I hadn’t called sooner.”

Finn is glad she’s not here to see the confused pout upon his face and his quivering lip. He does not like this. He does not like this at all.

“What do you mean?” he finally asks.

“You’re one of my best friends, Finn.”

He smiles warmly at the remark. Finn knows they’re cool, but after the break-up, they never really talked about feelings or where each of them stood in the other’s lives. It was a test run, nothing to put labels on. The admission was more than Finn was hoping for.

“You’re one of mine too. What’s wrong Phoebs?”

“You work for Bubblegum, Finn.”

“…So?”

The responding tone he’s met with sounds equal parts angry and sad rolled into one big ball of unhappiness.

“Finn, you can’t just call me up in the middle of a political conflict and ask how ‘everything is going’ with my kingdom when you’re sitting in the middle of another kingdom’s castle.”

Okay, now he’s like, really confused.

“But I want to know that you’re okay. That your kingdom is doing okay. You know? Like, what’s the 411, what’s the plan? We need to correspond and communicate to get these jokers out of here. I don’t… I don’t understand. We’re all working together on this, right?”

More silence.

“I need to do what’s best for my kingdom and my citizens, Finn.”

His hands squeeze at the phone pressed to his ear, unable to believe what he’s hearing. What was this? Was she messing with him? The humans…they came and settled, and _attacked_.

“The humans attacked us unprovoked, including you!” he almost yells into the phone, unable to contain the volume of his voice.

“Bubblegum has infiltrated my kingdom before too, Finn. Do _not_ forget that,” Phoebe hisses from across the wire. “Clearly, they wanted to demonstrate that they are not to just be pushed around or taken lightly. They’ve established themselves here –“

“Only because we-“

“Let them! I know, but they were chased from their homes and needed somewhere to settle. We let them, but we’ve been treating them as second class citizens and something to fear and you know it.”

Finn slams his fist onto the mattress. “They’ve been hostile the entire time! I know! I’ve been there! I was the only one they’d talk to for the first months! They never needed to attack anybody. They killed people!”

“They were afraid of all of us, and frankly I don’t blame them. They’ve shown us they’re a force to be reckoned with – but they’re looking for peace.”

Rage. Oooh, and so much of it, he’s seeing nothing but red. How could she sit here and defend them?!

“Oh, yeah, peace, ‘hey, we’re gonna attack like four kingdoms and then say, oh, we’re sorry, let’s be friends!’? No way.”

Phoebe’s voice is level, but her control is wavering. “It was a tactic. They can be useful to us, and we can be useful to them. Now they’ve just levelled the playing field.”

Finn is seething and words are just tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Oh, so that’s it. They’re offering you something. And what exactly do they have that is so enticing that you’d turn your back on your allies, hmm?”

“Allies is a loose term, but we’re not getting into that,” the words are laced with venom, but Phoebe doesn’t give Finn a chance to counter them. “And they’ve been mining. They have coal. To feed us. My people don’t like to leave the kingdom, it can be very dangerous for them and for the surrounding areas. Most of my citizens are unstable in cooler conditions. You know that.”

Finn huffs, “And what exactly is stopping them from attacking you again? Water isn’t exactly hard to come by.”

“Metal work. It’s a much easier manipulation for us than it is them. And a few other things. But I’m upset and I’ve already told you more than I should have. Nothing is settled yet. I have to go. Goodbye, Finn.”

And with that, Finn is met with a harsh click and dead silence.

It is the longest day in the infirmary thus far.

* * *

 

 

Bonnibel rifles through her closet, pulling out a thick wool sweater to go with her clean white jeans. Her normal attire she would regularly don for a formal meeting is exchanged in favor of comfort and warmth. Not that she would consider this particularly normal.

Peppermint Butler has been briefed on her security plans in her absence for the evening and she has her emergency bag ready to go when there’s a knock on her door.

“Come in,” Bubblegum says, tossing the sweater over her head.

“Hey,” Marceline greets, swaying tiredly through the doorway.

Bubblegum turns her back to the other girl, reaching for her bag. “I’m all set. You just wake up?”

Marceline nods, “Yeah. Didn’t sleep too well.”

When Bonnibel swivels back around, backpack secured tight behind her, she spots the exhaustion in Marceline’s eyes. The tired curve of her lower lip accidentally being prodded by a sharp fang. The past weeks have been hectic for Ooo all round. Bonnibel is growing especially frustrated with her negotiations. Finn’s awkward blunder with the Flame Kingdom being the newest addition. Marceline though, Bubblegum has been able to count on without falter, despite the other vampire's refusals. For someone so flighty and unpredictable, Marceline has been consistent and indispensable. That, and at the sight of seeing Marceline drained, sends a wave of appreciation and even a little guilt through Bonnibel. The instability of their once crumbling relationship led Bonnibel to assume Marceline had not a care in the world, and in anger she fixated only on the vampire’s negative tendencies.   It had made the growing schism more manageable and easier for her to deal with. The past few years, and especially now, that fissure doesn’t seem so deep anymore.  She's having a little trouble navigating it.

Marceline’s attention sharpens when Bonnibel steps closer than she normally would. Her eyes narrow in confusion when Bonnie reaches to pull Marceline’s baseball cap from atop her head.

“Here,” Bubblegum says, reaching around Marceline’s neck to grasp and gather her mane of hair. For a moment, Marceline stands a little stunned while Bonnie fixes her hair into a ponytail. The gesture is unnecessary. Marceline could have done it herself and now her mind is going a million miles a minute. She usually breathes out of reflex, but finds it impossible to do so with the Princess standing so close, and actually touching her, and wow, those jeans are tight.  Marceline immediately fixes her line of sight just over Bonnie's shoulder.

Bonnibel keeps her gaze studiously on Marceline’s hair and fixes the cap back on her head when she’s finished – backwards, because she thinks it looks better that way and besides, it’s less likely to blow off during the flight. She will omit the first train of thought if Marceline asks. Maybe.

“I’m not particularly inclined to having a mouthful of hair whipping me in the face for the duration of our trip,” Bubblegum explains, taking a step back.

“Gotcha.”

“Do you think this will work?”

“Honestly? No idea. Hop on.”

* * *

 

 

The sun has fully set by the time they’ve jumped out the tower window and begun to head north. Marceline keeps herself horizontal as she glides through the air so Bonnie can sit comfortably on her back without slipping off. Keeping her arms folded in front of her, Marceline rests her chin upon them, taking care not to go as fast as she could. This is nice. It’s quiet in the clouds, and Bonnie is warm, squeezing her thighs against Marceline’s sides whenever she veers to keep centered.

They’re silent the whole way, but it’s alright. It’s not a bad silent. It’s the first silence either of them have gotten to enjoy in a while. Up in the sky, it’s easy to forget what’s going on down below.

Marceline lowers herself as the peaks of the Ice Kingdom materialize into view. Swooping in toward the only source of light, she slows, adjusting herself for landing. Reaching back, Marceline grasps Bonnibel’s thighs behind her to keep her in place, feeling them tense as she leans forward into a vertical position to land at the mouth of Simon’s cave.

Bonnie slips off Marceline’s back and sighs. They both glance around the chilled dwelling. There are lights, but no one is in the main area of the cave.

“Simon?” Marceline calls.

After a moment, and no answer, Bonnie looks to her. “Should we go find him?”

The instant the sentence slips from her mouth, she is cut off by an unmistakable honk. They direct their attention to one of the openings to the other rooms to hear the tell-tale slapping of feet on ice.

There’s another small honk before a penguin wobbles into view.

Marceline can’t help but grin. The penguins can be devious little buggers, but she can appreciate that. Besides, they’re way cute and they like her. Crouching down, she holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers.

“Hey, Gunther,” she says softly. The penguin comes to rest near her feet and shuffles to fit itself under her outstretched hand. Marceline scratches the bird gently and it taps its feet happily.

“How do you know this one is Gunther?” Bonnibel asks, coming down to Marceline’s level to hold her hand out.

The penguin turns its attention toward the princess and sniffs at her hand before hobbling closer for her to pet it.

“Pretty easy when they’re all named Gunther, Bon,”

Bonnibel’s mouth forms a small, ‘o’ and she nods. “Right. I’m not surprised.”

Marceline shoots her a sideways grin before giving her attention back to the small bird. “Hey Gunther, can you take us to Simon?”

He honks twice before beginning to pitter-patter back the way he came. They take it as a clear sign to follow. Gunther leads a floating Marceline and an unstable Bonnibel through the ice palace, taking them deeper into the cave and to a set of stairs which he expertly maneuvers down.

Marceline hears Bubblegum’s exasperated sigh behind her and almost laughs.

“The most inconvenient choice for flooring…” the princess mumbles under her breath as she glides along the floor to gaze at the stairwell. She forgot to change her shoes.

“More inconvenient than candy?”

“The molecular composition of my fl-“

“Rhetorical, Princess,” Marceline cuts her off before Bonnibel can go off into an unnecessary rant and holds her hand out.

“Here.”

Bubblegum complies, allowing Marceline to pick her up bridal style, because it’s quicker. As they float down to catch up with Gunther, voices begin to bounce off the walls of the frozen stairwell. When they near the bottom, the penguin disappears from view and gathers the attention of the Ice King.

“Gunther! Just in time, Betty and I finally found the cookbook we were looking for!”

Marceline and Bubblegum reach the bottom of the stairs to find the Ice King beaming at the penguin. There is a large tome in his hands.

He notices them immediately. His cheeks stretch even wider in the strange sort of smile that Marceline has not recognized as Simon’s for a long time.

“Three foxy ladies in my library at once. How great is this! Honey, we have company!”

A dishevelled Betty appears from under an old desk, abruptly ceasing her rummaging for books and giving the two monarchs a quick once over.

“Great! They can do the dishes.”

Ice King glides over to them. “What’s shakin’ Marcy?” He nudges her with a friendly elbow before quickly turning his attention to Bubblegum.

“Princess, how did I know that the second I was unavailable, you’d come running? Typical.”

Bonnibel crosses her arms over her chest, attempting to remain civil despite the comment. She is here for a reason.

“You’ve technically been unavailable for three years,” she can’t help but point out.

The Ice King silences her with a chilled finger against her mouth, which Bonnibel promptly swats away. He doesn’t seem to be deterred. “Shhh, you want what you can’t have. I get it girl. Don’t worry, Betty here ain’t no prude.”

“ _Simon_ ,” Marceline says flatly, gathering what little attention he has to offer.

“What? Oh, right. Gotta wine and dine em’ first, eh Marceline? Gotcha,” he winks. “Good thing you’re both just in time.”

“We’re making cheesecake!” Betty exclaims, the power of Magic Man’s hat allowing her to hover over as she drops her arms over the Ice King’s shoulders.

Marceline and Bubblegum exchange glances. This was going to take a while.

* * *

 

 

“That was actually, surprisingly delicious,” Bubblegum praises. Her last bite of cherry cheesecake is scraped clean off the plate and Ice King grins triumphantly.

“Could’ve all been yours, Princess. You had your chance. I make my girl whatever she wants, whenever she wants, right Betts?”

Betty mumbles a distracted agreement while wolfing down her cheesecake as the Ice King glides over to take Bonnibel’s plate from her, leaning in far too close to her liking to whisper in her ear,

“You’ve still got a chance.”

The urge to vomit for Bonnibel is paramount. She glances to her left to meet Marceline giving her an apologetic stare. Bubblegum has been hyper aware of Marceline’s unease the moment they flew into the cave.   Betty is on the couch oblivious and as flighty as the Ice King himself.

As Ice King takes their plates, Bonnie chances another look over to Marceline, who has remained mostly silent aside from a few genuine smiles whenever Simon would say something particularly clever and inoffensive.

Bonnibel knows being around Simon, for Marceline, under any circumstances that are not her own don’t sit well. Simon had been like a father, and Marceline can only handle so much of his insanity. And for Bonnibel to ask this of her is only now settling into the heavy realization that Ice King would potentially be putting himself in harm’s way. Was it even considered consent for him to agree when his mind was so far gone? Bubblegum does not know, but hunches into herself in knowing that Marceline had brought her here anyway.

As Ice King shuffles back into the frozen living space the four of them are occupying, he plops back down on the couch; one of the only soft surfaces in the entire cave.

“So, what are we up for next, hmmm?” he inquires excitedly. “Boardgames? Maybe bust out a few jams? Spin the bottle?”

“Actually,” Bubblegum stands and straightens herself out. She doesn’t quite know what’s come over her. Logic always has always held precedent, but the words are out before she can stop them. “We just came for a visit.”

Marceline gives her a double take. Dumbfounded, clearly, though it goes unnoticed by the two wizards.

“We…did?”

Bubblegum keeps her gaze on the vampire and affirms more to Marceline than the Ice King, “Yes. The cheesecake was delicious and our time was lovely. But, we have to go. We’ll come back again sometime.” She addresses the Ice King directly for the last part, who frowns upon their imminent departure.

“Aww, so soon?”

“It’s alright, Simon,” Betty assures him with a pat on the arm. “We can play spin the bottle with Gunther instead.”

The rest of their parting pleasantries are exchanged in a strange blur for Marceline, who is still rattled and slightly worried. By the time she and Bubblegum have taken off from the snowy peak, she’s still in her head and it takes a moment to register that they are alone and she can speak freely. Maybe. She’s not sure; there’s a tense vibe and in such proximity they can each feel the other’s restless muscles betraying them. Marceline decides they’re past certain intrusions right now.

“Why’d you do that?”

Bubblegum doesn’t answer right away. Marceline tries to tilt her head back, but with Bonnie sitting on her back, she can’t see her face. Though she can feel her tense up.

“I felt bad.”

They both let it hang there for a while. Marceline is trying to connect the dots in her head, but no matter what path she takes, nothing is coming up right. She’s always known Bonnibel to do what is necessary; to use what resources she has. She especially assumed this would be considered necessary since the humans had Bubblegum backed into a corner.

“You don’t like Simon,” Marceline states. “He’s kidnapped you like, a dozen times.”

“Likely two dozen.”

“You’re only stressing my point.”

After a beat, Marceline doesn’t think Bonnibel heard her, until she finally replies.

 

“You care about him.”

 

It’s the last thing Marceline expects to hear. Bubblegum can feel the sudden dip in their elevation before Marceline, who was hoping it had gone unnoticed, regains full control of herself.

 

She doesn’t know what to say.

 

What does she say to that?

 

How can she say anything when she has no idea what it even _means_?

Bubblegum taking action under the reign of her emotions was strange on a regular day, but her kingdom was on the brink of _war_ , for Glob sakes.

Marceline panics when she feels she’s been silent for too long.

“…Thanks.”

It’s all she can manage. Anything else is too dangerous at the moment. And when Bonnie gives her shoulder a small squeeze in return, she almost breaks apart right there in the middle of the sky.

* * *

 

 

Bubblegum’s dimly lit balcony is both a welcome reprieve from the silence, and yet Marceline has no idea how to proceed with this. When Bonnibel slides off her back, she tries not to think about the way her hands glide down her shoulder blades before stepping away. Without looking back at Marceline, Bonnie passes her, opens the balcony doors and steps inside the room. Stuck there for a moment, recognizing that Bubblegum isn’t about to address this further, Marceline can’t really take it. She’s ready for this to end in a fight, or something not good, but Grod, she can’t keep her mouth shut.

“I still don’t understand.”

Bonnie turns to give Marceline her attention, somewhat; the moment she continues speaking, Bonnie’s head turns off to the side.

“You’re in hot water here. You’re running low on options.”

_“When has feeling bad ever stopped you from doing anything?”_ she almost continues. Almost. If there’s one thing Marceline has learned in the last few years, its jabs like that that lead to arguments which crumble everything they ever try to build back up.

Bonnie’s gaze is far away. Like she’s exhausted and simply doesn’t care anymore.

“You care about Simon,” she repeats, “and I care about you,” she finishes with a shrug of her shoulders.

That’s almost worse. It’s almost funny, even; the fact that in only a few small words, Bonnibel can ensnare Marceline in a cage bound of both supreme elation and immense _guilt_.

“Bonnie, I don’t want to be the reason you sign yourself away to them-“

“You won’t be.” She’s cuts Marceline off, actually looking at her now.

“But I-“

“If anything happens, you’d be the last person I’d blame.”

Marceline clamps her mouth shut and lets an irritable huff past her nose. “You should have asked for his help. He would have said yes.”

“I know he would have. I shouldn’t have gone to ask a deluded old man - who is happy with his wife - to risk his life for mine.”

There’s nothing Marceline can think of to counter this. She’s trying. They’re still staring at each other. And when Marceline’s mind goes blank at the absence of a remark, she realizes just how long they’ve been holding one another’s gaze.

Suddenly the room feels very hot and a pulse of energy flares in Marceline’s throat and mouth because she needs to say or do something because they’re standing not very far apart, and not speaking and what is she even supposed to do right now? She can’t remember the last time they spared one another a glance nearly half as long as this and it’s very, very confusing for her. Part of her is even feeling a little ticked off because she has no idea what Bonnie is thinking or feeling when she’s looking up at her like that, and none of the options that are appropriate are what she wants to do, or say, but she knows she’ll ruin everything – _everything,_ if she does anything but exit the room and leave Bonnie to go to bed. But Marceline is frozen on the spot and can’t bring herself to move because she does not _want to_.

Bonnibel decides for the both of them. She blinks and it’s gone – whatever it was. With a sigh, she steps away and toward her wardrobe. Marceline can’t do anything but follow her silently with her eyes. Part of her wants to tell her to come back. To what though? What could she even say after that?

“I should get some sleep,” Bonnie says, back turned, rifling through her belongings for sleepwear.

Marceline opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She takes in a deep inhalation, closes her eyes slowly, and exhales. She sinks heavy with the breath.

“Okay,” she manages, softly, not moving right away.

Bonnie slowly turns her head to look over her shoulder at her. There’s a very weak, sad looking smile gracing her lips.

“Goodnight, Marceline,” she bids, just as quietly.

The vampire’s shoulders slump with resignation.

“Goodnight Bonnibel.”

* * *

 

 

When Marceline closes the door, she can’t make it down the stairs right away. The lump is still in her throat and it tingles almost painfully. She pushes off the wall and glides dazed and mindless back to her room.

She keeps the lights off as she topples onto the bed, limbs outstretched. Her eyes have to be squeezed tight so nothing drips out and Marceline has to take a series of heavy breaths in attempt to shake herself of everything she’s feeling.

Most of it is shame.

Shame and guilt for wanting something she’s never had and never will. And at a time like this. She thought she had gotten better. She _should_ be better. There’s anger now too – at herself.

There’s no way she can sleep now. Not like this and not at night. Sitting upright, Marceline swings her legs over the edge of the bed to rest her elbows on her knees, head coming down to sit in her hands before running her fingers through her hair.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to shake it off. Her axe in the corner is swiped as she jumps out the window, taking herself high enough so that the Candy Kingdom is nothing but another indistinguishable speck.

With nothing else to do, and the night ringing silence, Marceline strums the bass low, wondering for an instant what it would be like to let gravity take her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter than usual, but I hope you enjoy regardless. I hope to tie in as many things with the new season 7 plotlines as much as possible, but this still might turn into somewhat of an AU if my plan traverses too far off course from what will be happening with the show. As always, comments are appreciated. :)

Living with Bonnibel is weird.

Not in a bad way. Well, it’s feels a little awkward at first. Bumping shoulders and accidental grazes, followed by mumbled “Sorry’s”. Gazes darting away from one another without much else to look at within the confined area. Taking turns coming in from the heated bath shack and having to change in the single room they occupy; the space decreasing even more when they makeshift another bed for Marceline against one of the other walls.

Sometimes Marceline simply does not know what to say within the silence, nor does she always know what to do with herself. Like when Bonnibel hunkers down for the night and Marceline is wide awake and there’s nothing to do but wander about the woods, or listen to the younger girl snoring away. Sometimes Marceline sleeps at night, just so she can hang out with Bonnie when the daylight comes. She has to wear sweaters or a hat when she goes outside, but at least she can enjoy the sunlight, somewhat. Plus, she kind of feels bad sometimes when Bonnibel is wracked with waves of uncontrollable yawning from trying to stay up too late to talk to her. The least she can do is try to stick it out in the light.

That’s one of the strange bits that Marceline has trouble wrapping her head around; that Bonnie genuinely enjoys her time with her. At least it seems that way to Marceline. She is a lifeless corpse whose only documented purpose for existence is to consume life. Had she not been a vampire, she would still be a demon – still Hunson’s spawn and heir. There’s a bit of despondency that comes along with that. In seeing Bonnibel’s potent excitation to anything scientific or particularly fascinating to her, she becomes hooked. Marceline wonders if that is all she is to the other girl; something to tinker with. To poke and prod until Marceline herself becomes ragged and dull and Bonnie finds something new to play with. She is just a girl, after all. Or, so Marceline thought.

“How old are you anyway?” Marceline asks, a few weeks into her stay.

Bonnibel’s pencil barely lifts from the paper she is furiously scratching across.

“Thirty one.”

Marceline’s mouth drops slack. “No way!”

The pencil stops. “Yes. Measuring the way the humans did through four distinct seasons, I am thirty one.”

Marceline crosses her arms, still not convinced. “Dude, you look like, thirteen, or something.”

Bonnibel turns to her with a grin and pokes Marceline’s nose with the butt of her pencil.

“And _you_ look nineteen, but you’re definitely not.”

“Touche.”

After those first few weeks of bumbling around in the small space, they get better at trying to find some sort of rhythm - how the other works. Marceline was used to either wandering aimlessly in the Nightosphere or being at the mercy of her father. She finds herself constantly asking permission to touch things, use things, eat things. She learns quickly that Bonnibel means to share what she has without reservation – aside from her research and work. Those things, Marceline is not to touch. She is not allowed to mess up Bonnie’s work. Which she’s totally cool with. Half the garbage on Bonnie’s desk doesn’t make sense to Marceline anyway. Except for some of the things that pertain to Marceline herself.

It is as Bonnibel had suspected; Marceline can survive entirely on shades of red. It is not long before Marceline’s craving for blood subsides altogether. There aren’t words to describe how relieved and elated this makes Marceline feel. Even if she sometimes wants to voice it, she isn’t sure how to say something so private to Bonnie. Nor could she ever imagine why the other girl would want to hear it. The only one Marceline has ever confessed anything to, is Hambo. Once the initial shock has run its course through Marceline, the urge to say anything about it recedes.

They’ve documented a number of interesting phenomena associated with the ability. Bonnibel’s hair returns to its natural pink hue sooner rather than later. This leads her to monitoring what Marceline eats for days after, leaving the counter lined with an assortment of grey objects that never truly return their original colour.

“It’s weird that your hair went back but nothing else did,” Marceline says as Bonnibel stands in front of the array of objects, perplexed. Marceline stares at the hair in question; thick and vibrant. Buoyant and heavier looking than what her own hair feels like. It seems stretchy and pliant. Marceline has the strange urge to reach out and touch it. Her lips draw involuntarily inward at the odd thought, not given much time to process it before Bonnie speaks up.

“My hair is living because I am. Which makes sense,” Bonnie muses, thinking out loud. “But… technically everything is ‘alive’, in some sense. It’s all made of the same few fundamental particles…”

Marceline does not know any of this. Living with Bonnie becomes more eye opening every day.

Bonnibel’s excited gasp causes Marceline to flinch as the girl swivels to face her.

“Come with me.”

Bonnibel marches out the front door leaving Marceling to follow dutifully behind. She leads them out back to one of the raspberry bushes.

“Ok, I’d like for you to eat the colour from some of these raspberries, but please leave them on the bush.”

Marceline raises an eyebrow. Bonnibel herself is particularly strange, but Marceline is slowly learning her quirks. Usually her demands have meaning that Marceline is not privy to, but eventually reveal themselves. It is a stark contrast from her father, who had her do things she did not understand and never did. She suspects, upon much reflection, that they were ultimately selfish and self-serving. Simon sometimes did that, but looking back, Marceline has found that most of his reasoning was based on shielding her from the horrors of their dilapidated world. He tried to reduce her pain. That didn’t help when he started going mad. Being so used to trusting Simon’s judgement, only to have that in itself become crazed and unstable left Marceline questioning everything.

Bonnibel was such a pleasant change. She sometimes did things without explaining, yes, but always responded in truth and with such logic and enthusiasm when Marceline simply asked, _‘why?’_ With the way Bonnie’s eyes lit up, it seemed like it was her favourite word.

“Eh… alright, I guess I can pull this off without poking my eye out.”

Thankfully, she does. When she pulls away, Bonnibel wraps a small piece of string around the stems of the particular berries.

When they return the next day to examine them, their colour has returned.

Bonnibel tells her that when an organism is in a state of regeneration or growth, it can return to its natural colour- like her hair. If Bonnie were to pluck the hair from her head however, and Marceline were to drink from it, the colour would not return. Bonnibel proves this the next day by testing it.

It’s all very fun. The learning bits. And the company. Sometimes, Marceline experiments on herself. Reaching a finger out of the sleeve of her sweater for the sunlight to catch and sizzle. Practicing her martial arts, jumping and tearing through the bushes; these things lead to bumps and scratches. Though Bonnibel has never, and would never ask Marceline to do these things on purpose, she can see that hot light in Bonnie’s eyes when Marceline shows them to her. Her skin regenerating and healing. Burns take the longest.

Eventually it leads to Marceline asking, “Do you want some samples?”

Bonnibel’s pleading, wide eyes in response enchant Marceline into giving the candy girl bits and pieces of herself that she willingly thrusts upon her. Some she discards like nothing, such as a hair or a toenail. Some, there is a fraction of a second of pain when a skin sample is taken. Marceline barely notices, and in reality, does not care. When Bonnibel smiles, or twiddles her fingers excitedly when she’s found something, it makes Marceline feel something. She does not know what that something is, but it is certainly not the constant, sickly churn that came with her actions in the Night when she did something for her father. This feels good.

After a while, Marceline does not know how long, the two of them essentially run out of parts of Marceline to play with without venturing into territory that Bonnibel does not want to encroach upon for boundary purposes.

That, and the house seems to constantly need fixing at the moment.

Bonnibel has a decent sized waterwheel she built at the stream on the property that is connected to the house that is steadily becing splintered and cracked. It supplies energy only when they really need it, or when Bonnie is experimenting. There is rot settling in the walls of the house, critters and bugs getting in, the roof straight up needs to be a new roof, the bathhouse needs a major upgrade as mould is becoming a problem, and countless other items on Bonnie’s to do list are getting neglected.

Most of the housing supplies were left over from when she resided with the humans essentially in this same area. She had taken the best supplies of each dilapidated dwelling and owner she outlived, to build a bigger and better one, but those have been growing old.

Without a party to accompany her, Bonnibel has not risked crossing the open grasslands by herself to the ruins that lay beyond, for better, sturdier supplies and tools.

Marceline is here now, though. And that changes things.

Bonnibel is pacing about the cabin when Marceline enters. It is evening. Marceline has been out, wandering, looking for a few things within the area, doing whatever. She knows though, that something is up.

Marceline has only spent time with literally a handful of people in her entire life. All seemingly bizarre interactions and relationships. She has never felt very good at that sort of thing, but seeing Bonnie instantly halting her back and forth, popping her head up and wringing her hands out when Marceline enters the cabin causes her ears to twitch involuntarily – her senses to adjust and focus on the other person in front of her.

“Bonnie? What’s up?”

“I…” Bonnibel gnaws at her lower lip, brow tilted up.

“This place is falling apart,” she spits out, frustrated.

Marceline reaches a nervous hand to scratch at the back of her head.

“Yeah…I noticed,” she admits. “I’ve been trying to ignore it. Or look for stuff that might fix it. But, I’m not very good with measurements and what your tools do…I’m really sorry.” Her ears fall flat, causing Bonnibel to catch her own anxiousness and soften.

She takes the few steps toward the doorway where Marceline has just entered into, leaving the crisp evening to the outdoors for the rest of the night. Bonnibel places a hand upon her shoulder.

“Sorry for what? Grod, I didn’t mean for that to sound insinuating. Things get old, Marceline. It has nothing to do with you.”

Marceline looks away and shrugs off to her bed. “Oh. Yeah. I just…I use everything here, you know? I thought with more use, things would…go faster.”

Bonnibel comes to sit next to her.

“Not the important things.”

“No?”

“No. That happens all on its own. Unless I take care of them. I just…”

Bonnibel slows, and Marceline does not prod her, but eventually she takes a deep breath and continues.

“My saws have dulled. I’m running out of parchment and pencils. And I haven’t had to work down an entire tree by myself, ever. Not, since I’ve been alone without others to help. And that’s only scratching the surface. I also haven’t been out of the forest to gather things to make said tasks doable since then, either. It’s too far and dangerous, and I can hardly carry anything with just my own two hands. ”

“Oh,” Marceline ponders, resting back into the wall. “Well, you’re not alone now,” she states, simply. “We can leave to go get some stuff.”

Bonnibel’s reaction is the opposite of what Marceline was expecting as the smaller girl huddles into herself.

“I don’t want to put this on you.”

Marceline tilts forward. “Bonnie, what? Come on. I… live here too, kind of. Right? I want to help take care of stuff. I might not know how, but in case you haven’t noticed – I’m like, ten times stronger than anything in these woods. And…I know these are your digs, but honestly, this is the only place I can remember that’s ever felt like home to me. I’ll make sure no baddies get you out there. Let me do something.”

Nothing could really prep Marceline for the sudden action of a pair of gummy arms flopping around her neck with more force than she imagined Bonnibel to have. It leaves her frozen for an instant, sending flashbacks into her memory to process and compare. The last person who hugged her was Simon, one night before he went full crazy, and they had gone two days without food. Marceline had been cranky as a result. He was comforting her and promising that they would be alright, that food would come along. She always felt better when Simon held her and told her he would take care of them and everything would be fine. Before that was her mother, wrapping her arms around Marceline’s tiny body, just a toddler. So bizarre, she had forgotten the memory until now, but there it was. She didn’t know why she was being hugged, but it didn’t matter. It was nice.

And this; Bonnibel, wrapped around her, is something else. Without thinking, Marceline instinctively pulls the other girl into her. It’s different though. Marceline can’t find the words to explain how. It is in part, that she feels so much more alive knowing that she is the one who gets to provide something for someone else. More alive, more awake. That she is the one who gets to protect somebody who let her in. It gives her motivation. And finally her thoughts land on the one word that has eluded her in all the years she’s been alive. She hadn’t even known she was looking for it. Purpose.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially AU as of Season 7. Stakes was great. I will try most valiantly to keep characterization with the new development of the series in tact. Have a long one. Enjoy :)

Bonnibel nearly flies out of her shoes when Marceline places a hand upon her shoulder.

“Whoa, Bonnie. You have _got_ to chill out. We’re _fine._ ”

Bonnie sighs. She’s been on edge since they made it out into the grasslands. A wide, open expanse unveiled itself to them a few hours into the night. Breaking through the last of the foliage, Marceline had stepped out first. Bonnibel followed cautiously. She had been rarely permitted to encroach upon this territory by the humans she resided with before. Open land was dangerous, and Bonnibel, no matter how old she got, had still been small; still a girl to them. Only a few select men and women were allowed to enter these premises for supply ventures only. Now, with her human tribe gone, Bonnibel is breaking the rules, albeit with Marceline by her side.

To be honest, when the vampire rests her grey hand upon Bonibel’s shoulder, she feels so much less trepidation than what she normally would. Marceline is crazy strong. And she is here to protect Bonnibel. Suddenly the valley doesn’t seem so frightening. Living the last few months with Marceline’s company has been serene for Bonnibel. Isolation was a lonely place. Marceline herself is unlike the humans Bonnie is used to. The vampire is strange, by their standards. But Bonnibel is not, and never has been human either. There were some aspects to their species that baffled her. She has decided that thus far, she quite enjoys Marceline’s company more, and is thrilled that they get along so famously. The odds of that, Bonnie decides, are one of those scientific probabilities so low that she mustn’t let her brain dwell too much on, or she’ll go banaynays.

The calm stillness of the evening echoes silent. Their footsteps are the only penetrating noise. Looking up, Bonnibel is not hindered by any trees and the stars present themselves to the two travelers.   She gasps. The night has never revealed itself to her like this in a very, very long time.

Marceline is keeping her senses watchful, balancing them between their surroundings and Bonnibel. She is watching the other girl watch the skies. Every few seconds Bonnie tears herself from the display and tenses, looking about to see if everything is alright.

“It’s okay, you know,” Marceline says. “Everything is mostly asleep. I should know,” she grumbles. “Pretty hard trying to catch food when everyone is hunkered down for the night.”

Bonnibel shoots her a reassuring smile. “Not that you have to do that anymore, remember?”   She states.

The corner of Marceline’s mouth quirks up as she feels the drudging weight of murderous starvation dissolve. Bonnibel had a knack at making that happen – to pull things out from inside of Marceline and leaving them to dissipate into nothingness; unable to hurt her anymore. It wasn’t like that in the Night with her father, or when Simon left her. Hambo couldn’t do that for her either. Instead, such things would run amuck in a dirty circle, gaining momentum, never stopping until sleep took Marceline.   Then she would awaken, and eventually, after a few hours, or even a few minutes, they would return. She couldn’t find a way to relieve herself. Bonnie had a weird way of making it better. It didn’t always stick, but the more she did it, the more it took hold.

Sometimes Marceline wants to tell Bonnibel these things, but she can’t possibly see how she would be able to form the right words to make the other girl understand, or that it would even matter to her.

Pushing the odd feeling aside, Marceline resolves that it’s alright. She’s happy Bonnie has that effect on her, and that should be good enough in its own right.

They’ve been walking for three solid hours since breaking out of the forest. Mostly through valleys and fields mingled with the occasional tree line. Nothing too dense.

Marceline focuses her attention directly out into the distance. It’s been a very long time since she’s roamed this section of the land. Before she died. Her memory is more than fuzzy and she has no idea what’s changed since then.

“Do you know how far it is to the town?” she asks.

Bonnibel huffs. Marceline can see she is getting tired.

“I remember the scouts used to be gone around five days. I’d say we should make it sometime later tomorrow. I think I need to crash soon.”

Biting her lip, Marceline surveys the area. The nearest treeline is way off in a completely different direction.

“I know you’re tired, but can we wait until we hit a good chunk of trees?” she asks, fiddling with her hands. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to sleep somewhere so exposed, and I know I have a sweater and an umbrella but I’m kind of… weirded out waking up in direct sunlight.”

Scared. Marceline is scared to wake up in the sunlight. She could move her sweater hood in the wrong direction, or her umbrella could blow away. She can’t.

Bonnibel’s tired smile relieves Marceline of most of guilt she had about asking her to move on.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not stupid enough to sleep out here.”

“We should have made camp before taking off from the woods. I just thought with everything sleeping, and not having to worry about protecting myself from the sun if anything did happen to spot us crossing, it would be easier. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool, Marceline,” Bonnie assures her, “It’s logically sound. Besides, we’re on an adventure. I have a bucket list, and being physically exhausted can now officially be checked off. It’s right above ‘return home smelling like a cyclops foot’.”

Marceline can’t help but throw her head back and let out a quick laugh. “Ha! I’m sure it would take like, sleeping in the middle of a swamp to rid you of that nice, bubblegummy scent you’ve got goin’ on.”

The moment that sentence slips out of her mouth, she watches Bonnibel’s gaze quickly divert to the sky – her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, and Marceline is intensely aware of a peculiar feeling in her gut. She doesn’t like it.

This is not the first time Marceline has made a passive remark about Bonnie’s unique physical structure. She was indeed, comprised mostly of bubblegum. This was, however - Marceline realizes - the first time she’s turned it into a compliment. She hadn’t really meant to do it. But it wasn’t untrue either.

 

Was it inappropriate to tell someone that they smelled good?

 

 

After a beat of silence that feels like it drags on forever, Bonnibel turns back to Marceline.

“The humans used to call me that, you know? Bubblegum,” she says, with a bit of a dreamy smile, that lets Marceline know she’s thinking of good things and the tense feeling fades off.

“One of the older ladies named me Bonnibel after they first found me when I was still relatively young. Said I reeked like candy. I didn’t know what that meant. Neither did most of the people who lived there. They knew I was different and I’ve always inherently known what I was, I just never knew the right word they used for it until one day some scouts came back. Gum lasts for a very long time, and they had brought some back. Most of the generations I lived with had never tried it before, growing up after the Mushroom War. I guess a few of them had tried mint gum before. It had been a little more common a generation or two back. It wasn’t really an item of necessity, but I guess pilfering was getting scarce and it was something they happened to stumble upon, and I immediately went to it. I just knew it was part of what I was, and when I asked them what it was called, I told them that. This is what I am.

They found it shockingly bizarre, but started calling me that often enough. It was out of endearment. I think they liked me. I helped them when people got hurt and they used to bring me back books because they knew I was an information sponge. Even though it was extra weight. It’s where all my textbooks came from. One time, one of the kids even asked if it was possible to chew on some of my hair.”

Again, Marceline finds her head thrown back with raucous laughter, grasping at her gut at the same time.

“Oh, my Glob. That is hilarious. Wait? So is that a thing? Your hair? Is it like chewy gum?”

Bonnibel beams at her. “Man, it totally is!”

“Ha!”

“I had no idea, but I figured if he was willing to put a chunk of my hair in his mouth, then I was all for an experiment. I randomly lose tiny bits and pieces of it anyway if it snags in the woods. Didn’t bother me to rip a little piece off for him.”

“That’s too funny,” Marceline remarks. She absently adjusts the heavy pack on her back; a slightly unnecessary gesture, before she speaks up again.

“Your uh, nickname has a pretty good ring to it though; Bonnibel Bubblegum. …I like it.”

Bonnibel mirrors Marceline’s actions in pulling her own backpack tight.

“Thanks.” It’s a little quieter than her usual tone of voice, but it is sincere.

This time, Marceline is the one to keep the flow of the conversation quick and seamless.

“I actually do remember that stuff though. I used to eat it when I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Only for a bit though. I remember my mom telling me to be super careful with it. She said it would taste really good, but if I wasn’t careful, I could easily choke.”

Marceline finds herself being drawn back into memories. Her mother handing her a piece of gum, feeling the first few bites drawing the irresistible sugar out to envelope her tongue and slide effortlessly down her throat. Slipping into a paradox of needing to keep the sweet flavour in her mouth encased as long as possible and the urge to swallow it whole. With each proceeding bite, the intensity of the flavour slowly dripped away. The familiar scent carries on into hazy, fever induced memories of being with Simon. Marceline being riddled with sickness with Simon carrying her in a frantic frenzy. Always moving. Why couldn’t she just sleep? Oh yes, the Oozers. And Simon, placing the crown atop his head and disappearing far away from himself. And then there’s that intoxicating, familiar scent again. Safeness in that smell. A can of welcomed food is pushed into Marceline’s hands and even the can itself smells of the sticky sweetness. That day when her fever pushed her to her limits, trapped in the drawl landscape of a broken city, Marceline remembers something bright and pink.

At the sudden triggering of the recollections, Marceline feels a sense of connectivity fall seamlessly into place, but she cannot grasp at it. The memory of her fever is too fragmented and broken to make anything out of it. She has the strange urge to ask Bonnibel if she remembers her. But that too, has no valid reasoning behind it. Bonnibel is thirty-one. Marceline is over two hundred.

Before either of them can say anything more, out of sheer reflex, Marceline swings her arm out to halt Bonnibel’s movements. The other girl bumps into the stiffened limb and recoils back.

“Marceline, what are you –“

“There’s something here.”

Bonnibel immediately tenses, allowing Marceline’s arm to come back and shuffle Bonnie behind her. Not that it makes much of a difference. They’re exposed in every direction. Oddly, illogically, Bonnie feels safer tucked against Marceline’s back.

There’s nothing Marceline can see outright. The wind blows against their faces, leaving her to take a big, long inhalation. Nothing. She suspected as much. She’s lived long enough hunting food to know not to linger upwind from prey. There is _something_ though. She can sense it. Way more intensely that she ever could with her human half intact. Feeling Bonnie breathing heavily behind her, she turns them slowly, examining each direction. And when they reach around about halfway, the wind picks up and gives a quick wisp in the opposite direction.

Ah, there it is.

Marceline still can’t see it, but she knows whatever it is, is rather large. There are a few scattered trees in the direction she’s sensing its presence. Not enough for them to have strayed to make camp. Too far off to be convenient, and not nearly dense enough, but it’s giving cover for _something_.

“Turn back around and keep walking the way we need to go,” Marceline instructs.

Bonnibel reaches for the rusty hatchet tucked in her belt but is hesitant to move forward, though Marceline encourages her to do so. “It’s behind us. Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for it.”

With a deep exhalation, Bonnie presses forward. “So, we’re safe then?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. It totally knows we’re here.”

“What?!” Bonnibel whispers harshly, halting her movements, to which Marceline gently pushes her along.

“Well, we have to go somewhere. The further we head the way we need to go, the more likely it is to leave the cover of those trees it’s creeping behind.”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t even want to eat us,” Bonnibel says, hopefully.

“Oh, it definitely wants to eat us.”

Bonnie’s blood runs cold, and her body suddenly begins to overload with adrenaline, almost to the point of panic. How is Marceline being so calm? Why is she so calm? With the humans she lived with, something like this was a _very_ big deal. Extremely dangerous, especially with only two people. Especially in the pitch black. It’s making her upset and angry.

“How do you even know that? How are you supposed to do anything when you can’t even see it?” Bonnibel scolds her in a low whisper.

Marceline is a taken back by the tone. Maybe Bonnibel’s trust in her is not as strong as she thought it was. Then again, why would it be? They’ve never been in any sort of life and death situation before, aside from their first meeting. Marceline had trusted Simon to protect her, and he did, but then he left her to fend for herself. Bonnibel had trusted in the humans, and they died out. Leaving her alone as well. Marceline was used to wandering alone. Bonnie was not. She stayed put, used what she had and what was nearby.

“I know it’s not friendly because I can just…tell,” Marceline offers. She knows it’s a feeble answer, but she has no better explanation. “Don’t you ever get that? When you know when someone means you harm or not? You just kind of, know. You know?”

“Sort of…” Bonnibel mumbles, pressing forward slowly. She likes when things come together in rational, scientific reasoning, but recalling their months together, and especially now, it appears Marceline does not run off such things nearly as much as Bonnie does.

“It’s…I can smell it. I can smell it but I can also smell its intentions. I know that doesn’t make sense, but that’s what it is,” Marceline tries to explain further. She doesn’t understand it herself, but she knows it’s right. She wants Bonnie to trust her and she knows she needs tangible things to do that, but it’s the best she’s got.

“Animals do that,” Bonnibel offers. The tone in her voice a bit more steady. She’s been given something about Marceline’s explanation in a relative and associative manner that has been governed with past scientific study that she has both read and observed. In addition, if that is what Marceline runs off of, it also means that she trusts Bonnibel as well.

“Oh, also, I can see perfectly in the dark. Just so you know.”

To Marceline’s surprise, Bonnie lets out a sigh, laced with a bit of laughter.

“Could have told me that.”

“Sorry, slipped my mind. Oh! There it is.”

Bonnie spins and freezes on the spot, hatchet at the ready.

“I can’t see anything. This is freaking me out.”

Pulling the axe she dragged from the depths of the Nightosphere from behind her, Marceline urges Bonnie to keep moving – to keep the thing from realizing they know it’s there. Marceline has been paying attention to it while keeping their conversation flowing, trying to keep Bonnibel calm. Its scent kept parallel with them until it had to part from the trees, to which it steadily began to move closer and into view. The grass wasn’t long, it had just been too far away for Marceline to get a good view of it until now.

“What should we be doing about this?” Bonnibel whispers to her, continuing to look back every other second. Camp life has always been Bonnibel’s forte. Building, repairing, cooking, healing, learning, innovating. All these things, she was primo at. Beasts and self defense, not so much. She is realizing now, that the segregation the humans imposed on them is hitting her full force. She is not equipped physically, mentally, and thus tactfully, to deal with this. This will need to be remedied in the immediate future. Because Bonnibel simply cannot stand being susceptible due to a particular lack of skill and knowledge. And some part of her is boiling at the thought that her tribe, and humans themselves, had gone on for generations in such a foolish manner.

Marceline is constantly and discreetly keeping her eye on the creature. “Well, I don’t really feel like going to sleep knowing that thing is stalking us, sooooo, like, I’m thinking wait for it to get close enough that I can actually get a good swing at it.”

“What? That’s your plan?”

She doesn’t want to let Bonnie know that despite her speed, the thing is probably faster than her. It has four legs. It’s a predator. On her own, she could probably outwit it in a more useful manner, but Bonnibel is here, and Marceline needs to be in her vicinity at all times. Unless…

“Well, I can use you as bait to get the one up on it, but I’m guessing you don’t want to do that.” Truthfully, she doesn’t want to do that either. But Bonnibel enjoys exhausting options. Marceline needs her to be agreeable.

“No, thank you.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Before Marceline can slip out anything reassuring, she watches as the beast speeds forward. Not the whole way, it’s too far, but close enough; just behind a rock they’d just walked by a few minutes ago. Nothing big enough for the both of them to hide behind, but for this thing, pressed against the ground, assuming they couldn’t see it, yeah, it was a pretty alright sneaking boulder.

“It’s behind that rock we just passed,” Marceline whispers.

“What! I thought you said it was far off!”

“Shhhh! It was, then it decided to you know, not be far away. Keep walking.”

Bonnibel hesitantly does as she is instructed. Marceline knows she needs to draw this thing out, not so it’s close, just so she can have a visual on it. She knows Bonnie is terrified, and it is only just hitting her, with the predator at such a finite distance away, that Marceline is actually scared too. Not for herself. She’s been a little scared for herself before. But, not really. When Simon left, after a while, it seemed like if she didn’t make it, then hey, would that really be so bad? Besides, Marceline can take care of herself when it came to physical combat. More so now after rigorous training sessions in the Nightosphere. But Bonnibel doesn’t have that. Marceline then registers that she is not scared for herself, she is scared for Bonnibel. Right now, it was up to her to do what Simon and her mother did for her, except she would do it _properly_. Marceline wouldn’t die of war sickness like her mother because she _couldn’t_. And she wouldn’t leave Bonnie like Simon left her, because after feeling what it was like to have someone who she cared for leave her, she would never.

The moment the beast comes out from behind the rock, Marceline knows she has to act fast. Judging on its distance and how it had to slow after a short stint, she has maybe two minutes before it stops stalking and breaks out into a run. It is big, as she suspected. But built for speed, not distance. Apart from its muscled body coated in long, thin strands of fur, she can spot a bunched up snout with long teeth pulsing up and down with its heaving breaths. Thinks it’s getting food. Funny, but no.

Grabbing Bonnibel and dragging them both into a crouching position, Marceline whispers to her, “I need a distraction, like, pretty quick.”

There’s panic in Marceline’s voice that registers instantly with Bonnie and it takes her all of half a second before she’s grasping at flower stems and the few pieces of long, beige grains sticking up from the mostly level field. They’re tied together into loops with precise dexterity. She does this three times in a record twenty seconds before taking a large stick and placing it through each of the loops, which dangle off awkwardly. Before Marceline can ask what kind of crazy she’s got going on, Bonnie begins to stuff the gaps between the loops and the stick with an abundance of dry leaves, twigs, and grass that sit in abundance on the valley floor.

Marceline can’t even register what’s happened before Bonnibel is thrusting a perfectly prepped torch into her hands; the stick long enough for her to hold, and a nice big, pile of nature’s dry floor ready to be burned, latched firmly in place to the stick with healthier, more water dense loops holding them in place.

“Holy shit, Bon.”

“This won’t hold for very long. It will probably fall apart and burn you,” Bonnie says, reaching into her back pocket for her small satchel of flint and striking stones she brought with them to make a campfire.

After years of practice with fires, Bonnibel sparks a flame in three strikes, and they each blow on it to give it life. Within seconds, the dry tinder is ablaze.

“Stay here,” Marceline instructs, trudging off in a direction that is away from Bonnibel, but leaves room for the creature to recognise that she would be a closer, more obvious target.

She can see the creature halt in its tracks and follow her with its eyes. Pursing her lips out, Marceline lets out a whistle and waves the flame around. It still hasn’t moved. Worried, Marceline moves slowly, but the creature’s attention is diverted back to its original intent. The second it pulls its gaze away from Marceline, she knows there is a problem and that she underestimated it.

She breaks off into a run towards it.

Bonnibel is crouched, unable to move, or do anything except watch the receding flame of Marceline’s torch send the other girl further and further away. Without being able to see, she can’t get a handle on her surroundings and it is by far the most frightening feeling she has ever experienced. Without warning, Bonnibel hears the furious movement of grass shuffling and feet on ground. She has no idea if it is Marceline or whatever it is that’s out there, but before she can move to get up and run, she sees the torch land in front of her just in time for the fire to illuminate the hideous and hungry face about to devour her, derailed by the flame just long enough for Marceline to throw her body into it and tackle it to the ground.

Beyond thinking before acting, Marceline barely registers that she’s pinned the beast and slammed her axe into its skull – four times, and she’s left panting, tongue coming out to lap the blood off her lips and chin, after months of feeding off colour, and it tastes _so_ good.

Bonnibel hesitantly makes her way over, hatchet grasped white-knuckled to her chest, the receding flames on the ground lighting the bloodbath around them. Marceline relaxes somewhat when she sees her. Glancing dazed to the dead creature below her, and then to Bonnibel’s horrified and perplexed face, the urge to drain the rest of the warm blood going to waste recedes, and Marceline settles for sinking down to suck the amber-red hue of the creature’s fur instead.

After the danger subsides, Marceline becomes acutely aware of a surreal pulsing feeling within her. After doubling, and triple checking the sensation, she comes to the conclusion that her heart is beating.

A human reflex, most likely. Reflexes; Bonnibel has mentioned those. This seems likely.

It fades as they take off and search for shelter.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back tomorrow?” Marceline asks, for the third time that night.

Bonnibel sighs, and tugs the rope tight to the tree branch.

“Yes, I’m sure. Look, tonight was mega freaky. I’m still all jittery. It was a scary experience, but I can’t just stay cooped up in the cabin for the rest of my life. Are you scared? You seem a little freaked too.”

Moving to loop the rope through the tarp holes, Marceline cannot meet Bonnibel’s gaze.

“Dude, I was scared for you. I told you I would protect you and that thing almost got you.”

“Exactly! I was useless, and an unnecessary burden.”

“What? Bonnie, no.” Marceline almost drops the tarp, but grabs it at the last second.

“Yes, Marceline. I am not equipped for this type of life situation, and I _need_ to be. I can’t rely on you to be here for me forever.”

“You made me a torch…”

“Probably wouldn’t have had to if we made a better stealth team.”

Marceline cannot argue that. And she likes the sound of ‘team’.

After her side of the tarp is tied, Bonnie slumps her shoulders forward, careful to keep her balance on the wide branch she’s situated on. “Look, I can’t say that a big part of me doesn’t want to go back, but, our house is falling apart. And I want to be able to fix it. You said you want to be useful, yes?”

Marceline does not answer her. She keeps fastening her side of the tarp. She knows where this is going.

Bonnibel continues, “Well, so do I. I got angry at you back there simply because I was afraid. And I don’t want to be afraid to leave my cozy, little territory. I know it’s a lot to ask for you to help me with that…but…I am asking.”

Marceline does not look at her. Both sides are secure now. She does not want to help Bonnibel with this because that means putting her in harm’s way. At the same time, she knows she never would have gained what abilities she has had not been put in the same situations. Maybe some good did come out of being abandoned. At least, with Marceline there, Bonnie wouldn’t be alone in the endeavor. That was cool, right? Ugh, it still feels nasty. But what else can she say?

“Okay. You’re right…” Marceline relents.

“Thank you,” Bonnie exhales with what seems to be relief. “…Are you sure this is going to hold?”

Hold? Marceline snaps out of her trance to inspect their tarp - stretched out between two thick branches elevated about ten feet high upon a single tree. Marceline had scoped out the trees in the area after they had crossed the field in a hurry on their leftover adrenaline and picked this one out specifically.

“Oh, yeah. It’s good. I used to do this all the time when there were lots of Oozers in an area. Most of them couldn’t climb. You’re good. Try it out,” she says with a grin. Hammocks were her favourite.

Bonnie rolls off the branch and into the suspended tarp, feeling it give way just a little bit. Marceline can see the bit of panic before Bonnie settles into it.

“Oh, wow, this is legit comfy.”

“I know, right?”

Moving into a comfortable position, and grabbing the blanket Marceline hands to her, she wonders aloud, “Where are you going to sleep?”

Marceline gives her a weary grin. “Just chill, I know you’re still a little freaked out. I’ll keep watch. I super promise it’s unnecessary, nothin’ will get you. I wake up to weird smells in my sleep all the time, so I know when something comes ‘round.”

“But you need sleep, vampire or not,” Bonnibel insists.

She is rewarded with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll wake you just before dawn. I’ll take a few hours then. You can make sure I don’t get scorched, cool?”

Bonnie seems a little miffed, but in a way that makes Marceline happy. Eventually, the other girl nods, and flops down, exhausted.

“Yeah, okay. But wake me up. For reals, Marceline.”

“Yeah, I will Bon.”

There’s about fifteen minutes where Marceline watches Bonnibel twist and turn in the hammock they’ve secured. She’s put off saying anything for fear of disrupting Bonnie’s attempts at sleep, but her impatient huffing and puffing doesn’t leave Marceline without much option.

“You okay?”

Bonnie leans up on one elbow. “No. Guess not. Thought I was. It’s stupid…”

Marceline can barely remember her days and nights in between when she had her mother and when she had Simon, but they definitely existed, and they were definitely frightening. The days when Simon first left are more pronounced. They were just as bad.

Reaching into her backpack, Marceline pulls out her teddy bear.

“It’s not stupid. You wanna snuggle Hambo? He’s been a pretty good cuddle pal to me for forevs.”

This sort of thing does not appeal, nor make sense to Bonnibel, but seeing the way Marceline has looked at that stuffed animal, and the care she handles it with, leads her to a more agreeable manner and she reluctantly accepts the ragged thing, clutching it to her with nearly all her might.

Five minutes in.

It doesn’t help. Just keeps Bonnibel from digging her nails into her own palms.

“…Would be more effective if Hambo were big enough to be around me, I suppose,” Bonnie grumbles, more than frustrated at her insomnia than anything. There is no way she will be able to travel if she can’t sleep. This was neither part of their plan, not is it conductive to it. It should be something she is able to overcome, but it’s _not._ She’s ashamed it’s such a problem.

Marceline’s mouth doesn’t shut itself fast enough.

“I’m big enough.”

Crickets have honestly, never been louder.

“…Yeah, okay. Can we face the tree? Make sure we catch if something comes up.”

It takes Marceline a good, few seconds to register that her offer has actually been accepted. The offer that Marceline has zero idea why she blurted out in the first place.

“Yeah, sure, that’s cool, makes sense…” she fades off, crawling amongst the branches to slip in behind Bonnibel.

Once Marceline flops down into the makeshift bed, she realizes that there is absolutely nowhere to put her hands. They’re both shuffling and adjusting. Glob, she did not think this through. A bout of panic begins to rise in her chest before Bonnibel lifts her head and pulls Marceline’s bottom arm to settle under her neck as a pillow, leaving her head to rest just under Marceline’s chin.

Her other arm and her hips certainly are not relaxed, so Marceline is left with no other option but to gingerly tilt her body and wrap her other arm around both Bonnibel and Hambo, grasping on and linking hands with herself to enclose all three of them.

At once, she feels Bonnie inhale deeply and melt down.

“…You…good?”

“Mmhh, think so.”

“It’s…better?”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Marceline can sleep like this. She wants to sleep like this, but her body is doing something bizarre, and suddenly the adrenaline is back, but she has no idea why. They are perfectly safe here, and she’s so _comfy_. Why would that feeling be back?

And then it happens again. The pulsing.

Her heart is beating again.

Bonnie is snoring and Marceline’s heart is beating and it takes forever to actually sleep, because she is acutely aware of every single second that passes and every single inhalation and exhalation that the two of them share in sync, but finally, just before dawn, Marceline can’t help but give in and passes out.

 


End file.
